


Peter Quill and the (Mostly) Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by rohanrider3



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome father figures, BAMF Baby Groot, BAMF Drax, BAMF Gamora, BAMF Kraglin, BAMF Mantis, BAMF Meredith Quill, BAMF Nova Prime, BAMF Peter Quill, BAMF Rocket, BAMF Yondu Udonta, Big Damn Heroes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone ends up having at least one big damn heroes moment, F/M, Gen, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 AU? I guess?, Guardians of the galaxy as family, Hurt/Comfort, Mama Bear Meredith, Mind Control, No Sex, No Smut, Papa Bear Yondu, Peter Quill whumpage, Space family, Team as Family, Terrible father figures, This story grew faster than the Expansion, This was meant to be a one shot and now it has multiple chapters, ravagers as family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 09:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 45
Words: 98,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11055822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohanrider3/pseuds/rohanrider3
Summary: In which Ego is a jackass, Yondu gets (temporarily) mind-controlled, Peter survives an insane amount of insanity in a short period of time, it isn't wise to (SIMULTANEOUSLY) tick off the Guardians of the Galaxy, the Ravagers, and the Nova Corps...Oh. Also, Meredith Quill is, somehow, back from the dead. And hurting her son? Yeah. You just made a _huge_ mistake.(AU of Guardians Vol. 2 where Ego pulls a Xanatos Gambit and tries to distract Nova Corps, frame Yondu, and kill the Guardians before taking Peter. It doesn't go as well as he'd planned. Also, Mantis is a little younger in this version, about 13 or so.)





	1. Out of Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one shot. It now has multiple chapters. Dang thing grew faster than the Expansion. Lots of Peter whumpage but also lots of family feels/comfort to make up for it!
> 
> (Added note: Whoa! I NEVER thought it'd get this big! :D ) My ego's in danger of inflating more than...well, Ego's, I guess ;) )
> 
> I just wanted to shout out and say a big thank you to _you_, the readers. It's really awesome to know that each gnawed pencil from writer's block, every finger twinge, and every single _moment_ it takes to write and post this is WORTH IT to read your comments, see the hits, and blush at the kudos.
> 
> But really? That's _not_ the biggest thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm super glad if you liked this. _Honored_, actually--but I wanted to tell you that YOU GUYS HELP ME IN THIS. I wanted to tell you, reader, whoever you are, that I guess what I really want to say is that now...
> 
> ...well, now _I_ can turn around and holler (to whoever wants to hear it) that "I! AM! NOT! ALONE!!" in just loving these characters and simply _enjoying_ them. And that's something I've wanted to say for a really long time, to be honest.
> 
> Okay, yes, that last bit might sound sappy, but eh, my genre's hurt/comfort and family feels, whadja expect. (Also, even though I quoted everyone's unfavorite sentient planet, I _do_ promise not to force anyone to ride along during an attempt to take over inhabited solar systems) ;) 
> 
> Seriously, though, from the bottom of my heart, thank you guys for reading. And know that you're never alone either! Now, on to the story! Hang on to your hats!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu hadn’t become the head of the Ravagers by playing fair. Or nice. But it had never hurt to be friendly.

“Get outta the way, boy.”

The kid still stood there, both of his blasters out and pointed straight at Yondu’s face. He didn’t budge from his position between his former captain and the injured Nova Prime. The kid’s face was pale and bloody, but defiant.

“Nope. Not gunna happen.”

Yondu uncrossed his arms and put both hands on his hips, forehead puckering into a frown. “Boy,” he said slowly, “I’m not gunna tell you again. Get outta the way.”

The boy’s expression hardened. “And I’m not gonna tell you again. That’s. Not. Happening.”

Yondu ground his teeth together. Today was not going well. For one thing, his crew’s attempt to assassinate Nova Prime had failed. Spectacularly. To make matters worse, the Xandarians had frantically called in the Guardians of the Galaxy for backup, and the dast crew of losers had played a prime part in foiling Yondu’s plans to earn some much-needed income.

And to top it all off, Yondu had a SPLITTING headache. He didn’t remember exactly when the pain had started, but it was there, pulsing agony centering over one of his eyes. And the boy was only makin’ it worse with his never-ending prattle.

Yondu massaged the bridge of his nose with one hand, then sliced the other through the air in an angry gesture, only half-listening to the kid’s angry threats. When the Ravager captain spoke next, he forced himself to act as though he had the situation completely under control. And as if his head wasn’t trying to kill him.

“Ya’ll are right.” Yondu studied the boy, then let his gaze flick round the room and light upon each of the Guardians there. Then he looked back at Quill. Yondu smiled at him. As he smiled, the Ravager felt his lips peel back from his teeth.  
It wasn’t a nice smile.

“Even if I do complete mah contract, ya’ll would follow me out. Probably try and get me and my crew all in one big gulp, too. But…I’m bettin you won’t.”

The small rodent, still covering him with a gun larger than it was, snarled at him. “And why would you say that, you krutakin wanna be assassin?”

Yondu’s smile never wavered. But it didn’t reach his eyes, either. “Easy.” He sucked in a breath between his teeth. He saw Quill’s eyes widen in realization. The kid wasn’t a complete idiot, then.

“—this.” Yondu finished.  
And whistled.

They’d destroyed his trademark arrow in the first few seconds of the fight. Quill had—very emphatically—focused on screaming that objective to his mismatched group of misfits.

And it had worked.

But they hadn’t known that Yondu had taken to carrying a spare. A prototype, sure, but a spare nonetheless.  
Denarian Day swore, Nova Prime went pale. Thanos’ assassin and the gladiator yelled, and the tree-thing yowled “I AM GROOOOT!”, and stretched out a tiny leafy hand towards him.

Idiots.

They’d never stop him in time.

Across from him, the rodent yelled, its clawed finger jerking on the trigger. Yondu leaned sideways and backwards, and the fiery orange blast from the massive gun missed his midsection by a hairsbreadth and blew a two-meter crater in the wall behind him.

But that’s not what everyone was looking at.

They were looking at Quill. Who’d—

Yondu blinked, once. His head throbbed with agony.

The little idiot had dropped one of his pistols and jumped in front of the white-haired leader, shoving her down and to the side with one hand and stopping the arrow from reaching her with his other hand. No. With his own body.

He’d—

—he’d stopped the arrow—

—how had he stopped it, no one ever—

—he’d grabbed it—

But he hadn’t managed to stop it. Not completely.

Yondu knew that.

Because he knew the schematics of the arrow, knew it like the back of his own scarred hand.

And it wasn’t only two inches long.It was more like fifteen.

And most of those inches were sticking out of Quill’s back.

The remaining five inches were still in front of him. Gripped in Quill’s shaking, bloodied hand.

Yondu’s whistle faltered, just for a second. Then he narrowed his eyes, intensified his whistle. Sent the command to it to continue, to finish the job. That was the job. That was his job. The one he’d taken.

And if some stupid Terran chose to jump willy-nilly in front of known targets, that wasn’t Yondu’s fault. Besides. With luck the arrow would go straight through the dumb kid and still get Nova Prime. The contract would be filled and the boy would be fine. Most likely.

Nova Prime wouldn’t be fine, of course—it’d been going for her eye, and if Yondu had anything to say about it, it would get there before the next few seconds were up—but Terrans were almost notoriously hard to kill. A hole in the kid’s chest wouldn’t, wouldn’t really—it could be—they had infirmaries on this ship, and there was a medical fleet just outside, and—well, anyway. This was business. No time to think about that now. Besides, the damn kid was still holding the arrow, actually fighting Yondu for control of it.

Gods, his head hurt. And trying to wrest control of the arrow back from Quill was makin it worse.

Damn that kid’s ungrateful, ornery hide.

Yondu’s expression darkened. The arrow strained harder, the boy’s face whitening still further as Yondu’s signature weapon strained against his grip, actively fighting to get free, to get through or out of him and finish the job. Quill’s teammates were alternatively screaming at him or each other, trying desperately to work out a course of action that wouldn’t get Quill even more shot. For a dark moment, Yondu wondered why one of them hadn’t just taken the pragmatic option and shot him in the back already, but then realized they must have remembered what happened to the first arrow they destroyed.

When Yondu had lost control of the thing—more specifically, when the big tattooed one had sucker punched him in the kidneys—the arrow had spun wildly in various directions, spiraled out of control, hit an abandoned comms station, and then shattered into dozens of metallic splinters and torn through half an inch of solid steel decking.

It’d been a miracle no one was killed.

But if he lost control of the thing while it was actually in Quill…that miracle probably wouldn’t repeat itself.

Meanwhile, Yondu was getting steadily more and more vexed with the kid. Try as he might, he couldn’t make any sort of headway towards his target.

Yondu’s arrow shook, slid a few centimeters through Quill’s one-handed grip. The kid gritted his teeth, shook his head, planted his feet, and pulled.

Yondu felt his connection to his weapon quiver, start to shake apart. That wasn’t possible. That just wasn’t—

—Quill’d dropped his other laser pistol now, was bringing his other hand up, grabbing the arrow with both hands, still pulling hard on it, but the dumb kid knew that wouldn’t work, of course he knew that, so what was he doing, what was he—

—Quill—

—he’d stopped pulling on the arrow, instead he was—

—no—

—no, boy, stop, what do you think you’re doing, you idiot—

Just for a second, Quill looked up and locked eyes with Yondu, wide blue eyes staring straight back into unbelieving red ones.

And Yondu knew what the kid was going to do a split second before it happened.

SNAP.

The sound of the arrow itself breaking wasn’t that loud. Granted, it’d been made of metal. And true, it’d take more than typical Terran strength to snap the battletested weapon in two. But the sound of the break itself wasn’t very loud or dramatic. Just a final, brittle crack, like a door far down a distant hallway being slammed open.

The sonic backlash, on the other hand, was very loud indeed. Because Quill had targeted the tiny little red control panel that always blinked on the end of the weapon. The miniscule panel that received the signal from Yondu’s whistle. And the boy, blast his hide, had known what he was lookin for. And then snapped it in half.

So much for directin the arrow now.

The sonic backlash split the arrow into tiny, splintered pieces—less than a hundred but more than a few. More importantly, the backlash knocked everyone in the throne room away from the center of the explosion, hurtling them back and then down hard onto the floor. For his part, Yondu landed on his back. Hard. He swore, tried to catch his breath. Craned his head up, saw Quill’s limp form crash down a few feet from him.

Yondu’s head ached. He snarled, chanced a look around. Nova Prime and her guard were still sprawled out behind Quill, and the other self-styled “Guardians” were scattered across the room in a rough semicircle. They were at least awake, but still off balance, dazed, struggling to get to their feet. The green-skinned girl looked round, saw Quill lying within arm’s reach of Yondu. She stretched out her own beringed and bloody hand towards them, crying out.

“NO!! Peter!”

The tattooed one’s head jerked round, his angry gaze finding them as well, a guttural growl rumbling out from deep inside his chest. The small furred one flattened its ears against its head and howled, slamming a paw down onto the side of its gun, apparently trying to hurry up the recharging process. The tiny talking stick yowled “I AM GROOOOOOOT!” but couldn’t do more than stagger forward a few inches, trying to reach its tiny arms towards Yondu.

And Quill.

Who was lying within easy reach of the—currently unarmed and outnumbered—Ravager captain.

A sudden idea seized Yondu’s aching head. He snarled, reached forward, and roughly grabbed Quill by the collar of his coat. He forced himself up to his knees, then to his feet, dragging the boy up with him, holding him in front as a living shield. Once they were upright, he grabbed the boy’s still-mostly-intact right arm and twisted it into an excruciatingly painful but effective hold. Thanks to the still-bleeding arrow wound in his chest, the kid wasn’t going to be using his left arm for awhile anyhow. On his way up, Yondu had snatched one of the boy’s laser pistols up from the ground. Clicking the hammer back, he pressed the muzzle of the gun tight against the boy’s head.

“Now now,” he said easily. “Let’s all not do somethin that we—“ he amended his phrasing “—that Petey here would regret.” He smiled sidelong at the semi-conscious figure he was more or less dragging along with him. And made sure to keep yanking him backwards with irregular jerks, keeping him just off balance enough to keep him from gaining any sort of meaningful leverage.

Because as a fighter, Quill was good. Real good. Yondu should know, since he’d taught the boy himself. But, pride in his pupil notwithstanding, Yondu certainly wasn’t givin the kid any kind of chance to get out of this one. To be fair, the ragged bits of shrapnel sticking out of the kid’s chest were gonna tip the scales in Yondu’s direction as well.

Because Yondu hadn’t become the head of the Ravagers by playing fair. Or nice.

But it had never hurt to be friendly.

“Like I said, don’t do nuthin that might affect Petey’s health, here. Ain’t that right, boyo?” For once, Quill didn’t have a quip ready to hand, or even a smartass look to shoot at him. Maybe shock or blood loss had something to do with it. They were leaving quite the smear trail behind them as they retreated away from the group of murderous rogues who had dubbed themselves “Guardians”.

They were frozen, now, eyes tracking every move Yondu made and scanning him for weaknesses. Yondu hid a smirk. There weren’t going to be any. Not this time.  
In his grip, Quill’s pace slowed, his movements becoming even less steady, even less coordinated. Yondu wasn’t sure if the dast kid was trying to fight him or was just wildly disoriented, but the effect was the same. He was screwing up Yondu’s getaway. The Ravager cursed and yanked his hostage to the side again.  
Yondu was focused on Quill, but he could feel the others’ gaze on him. They were not thinking pleasant thoughts. Yondu had to get out of this here command room fast, or he was dead four different ways, none of them nice. Or pleasant. Or quick.  
The Ravager captain looked round, then chanced a quick look over his shoulder at the high windows now stretching up above them. He allowed himself a fierce and sudden grin. There it was. He’d gotten into the right line of sight. It wouldn’t be long now.

Gods bless Kraglin and his newfangled machines. Beaming people up inta ships indeed.

Then, movement. Over to one side. The rodent, twitching. Could have been nerves. Or he could have been going for a gun. Regardless, Yondu decided to risk a quick and angry shot at him. The little rat squeaked and dove behind some fallen pipes, narrowly missing the streak of blazing orange light that burned a gleaming yellow hole in the metal above its head. Yondu frowned. The thing’d been lucky it was so small.

Still.

“I asked ya’ll nicely,” Yondu said, forcing the smile to remain on his face, “to keep yer composure. For the boyo’s sake.”

For emphasis, Yondu pressed the now-smoking barrel of the gun back against Quill’s temple. The boy jerked at that, made a pained sound. His dazed eyes flickered

open for a second, and he tried to get away.  
Needless to say, Yondu did not let him. In fact, he cocked the gun again and pressed it harder against the kid’s temple, ignoring both the boy’s grunt and the painful sounding hzzz sound the muzzle made as it burned into skin and bloody hair.

“Now don’ make me ask a third time,” he said, and his tone was as cruel as his words were kind.

He heard Quill cough, then start to croak something.

It sounded like “Ngh”. No, wait, there, at the end, “Ngh, guyz, guyz, donlistentohi—“

Oh, enough. He’d had it with the melodramatic heroics. They were never profitable and were often downright tedious, when they weren’t actively getting in the way of an important payday. And this was the second time Quill’s stunts had robbed Yondu of a profit. Three, if you counted the cheap trick of switching out a troll doll for an infinity stone. The kid had been nothing but a headache and a pain in his neck for years. And right now, his head was killing him.

Bottom line, Yondu had had just about enough trouble from Quill for a decade or so.

So Yondu twisted the boy’s arm even tighter, and moved the muzzle of the gun from Quill’s temple to directly under the boy’s chin, cutting off any further self-sacrificial babble the kid might have left in him. “Boyo,” he said, voice dangerously quiet. “I didn’t ask you to talk. So don’t.”  
He shoved the gun up, harder than was necessary, until the kid was practically standing on tiptoe, forehead furrowed, eyes squeezed shut.

“Don’ talk outta turn. Or I’ll make sure you don’t ever talk again. Unnerstand?”

Peter made a vague sound, whether of distress, agreement, smart assedness, or pain, Yondu couldn’t tell. But to be fair, the Terran also could’t really talk, now. Or nod. At all. So Yondu decided to take his answer on faith.

Besides. He had more pressing matters to consider.

He heard the gladiator—Drax—gasp. “You could not kill him.” he said, sounding genuinely horrified. “You raised him as your own.”

A thin, hollow laugh from the assassin-turned-heroine. Gamorra, Yondu remembered. “That doesn’t mean anything, Drax.”

The rodent—Rocket—snarled something inaudible but probably profane. Yondu caught the words “—blow your fragging head off if you damage ‘im” and guessed he’d assumed correctly. The little twig’s growl of “I am Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroot.” sounded menacing as well.

But Yondu didn’t have time to concern himself with them.

Because his crew had hailed him on his comms channel. And told him to get ready to get beamed aboard his ship. Yondu was debating whether to a) let Quill drop gracelessly to the deck, b) shoot him in the knee just to keep them busy as he made his getaway, or c) combine both of the first two options but hurl him towards his friends for maximum damage. That’d certainly keep them busy. Yondu had, after some deliberation, decided to go with c and to hurl him into the tattooed one. And that’s when Kraglin’s voice glitched in once more over his comms.

Yondu cocked his aching head to one side. “Say again?” he asked. “A bounty? Which one?” As he spoke, his eyes flicked towards the self-styled “Guardians of the Galaxy”. He didn’t miss the sudden paling of the girl, or the surprisingly loud animalistic snarl that erupted from the tiny one with the malfunctioning gun.

“‘—t’z a new one on Quill, boss. Looks like there’s a real nice price on his head.” Kraglin said. “Alive, looks like. Something about his “unusual ansystry”. Whadda wanna do, boss? You wanna bail outta here now, come back for Quill later? He’d probably be easier to nab when he’s not in the middle of the Nova Corps fleet and guarding the Nova whatsername. Once that contract’s done, it’d still be hard to get him, sure, but we could try—see, there’s this bar on Knowhere I know they like to hang out at…”

Yondu ignored his co-pilot’s rambling—and now completely unnecessary—theorizing. He smiled as he looked from the Guardians to Quill, then back again.

“Looks like we still might make some money afte’ all.” he drawled into his comms. “Slight change’a plans. Set it for two, not one.”

Kraglin sounded slightly puzzled. “You—you gonna go get ‘im now, Captain?”

Yondu smirked at the green girl, then over at Nova Prime, who was just now shakily getting to her feet. The white-haired leader stared back at him, a flash of unguarded horror flickering across her usually composed expression, and he could tell in that moment she understood what was happening.

“Nah.” Yondu said easily. He gave a final, vicious twist to Quill’s wrist, and easily countered his—frankly pathetic—attempt to grab the gun. Considering the kid only really had one shoulder working—and that it was the one in the armlock—he guessed the attempt wasn’t that pathetic.

But still.

Yondu smiled at Nova Prime, winked at the green girl. His mama had taught him to always respect the ladies. And just because you’d taken a contract to kill one and then fought hand to hand with t’other five ticks ago didn’t mean he had to be a no-good, ill-mannered son of a gun when takin his leave. When he spoke to them, his voice was polite, even mildly friendly.

“Ya’ll have yourself a nice evenin.”

Then he spoke into his comms. In a very different voice.

“Don’ need to go get ‘im. I already got ‘im. Activate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	2. Out of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is difficult and Yondu takes a call.

Once he was back on his own ship, Yondu thought that he’d get at least a few seconds of peace and quiet. Anything to get rid of this dast headache that was swiftly turning into a migraine.

But he hadn’t.

Because true to form, Quill was still being difficult.

Yondu wasn’t sure how the kid managed it, exactly. The kid had shrapnel sticking out of his chest and he’d just been warped into the one ship in the quadrant where over half of the crew wanted to literally eat him alive.

And that part of the crew had been on the bridge when Yondu and Quill had come beaming in. And were currently surrounding their least favorite former crewmember, hemming him in on all sides.

But the little shit was still crackin jokes. Or insults thinly disguised as jokes.

Stars and celestials, some things never changed.

“—think you’re all Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men, but seriously, guys, attacking a medical transport during a planetary evacuation as a cover for trying to assassinate Nova Prime? What the actual hell is wrong with you!?”

“Big words for a small and bleedin’ Terran.”

“Oh, hey, uh, hi, Erech, nice to see you again too—did you have the bright and upstandin idea to get a few spare units by goin after panicked refugees? Or was it Kurick? Or—Taserface—oh, uh, um, hey, hey, uh, back up a little, whoa, there, give a guy some breathing roo—“

In the co-pilot’s seat beside Yondu, Kraglin sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose resignedly with grimy fingers.

“He’s talkin again, boss.”

Yondu stared straight ahead as he made minor adjustments to the Ravager ship’s current course. One eye twitched slightly.

“I know.”

“Can we stop him, boss?”

“No. Not yet.”

Kraglin sighed, deeply.

“He’s gonna get himself killed, boss.”

“Kid can handle himself.”

Behind them, Quill’s voice had shot up an octave, then abruptly cut off. Not surprising, given the steadily rising hum of hostility from the crew. It couldn’t have been pleasant being surrounded by a horde of angry Ravagers who hadn’t been paid (thanks to Quill’s various escapades) in over two cycles. Yondu wouldn’t have pegged the new tone of the boy’s voice as panic, exactly, but then the boy never did seem to know when a situation was overwhelmingly impossible. Or he just never accepted it, a new and much smaller part of his mind noted. Yondu frowned to himself and brushed that new, smaller part of his mind away.

He had important matters to take care of.

He finished setting the new course into the ship’s nav system, then slowly turned his captain’s chair around to face towards the back of the command deck. As he did so, he plastered a giant, friendly smile on his face. Kraglin saw it and instantly tensed. Most of the crew saw it as well, and backed away slowly, suddenly becoming very interested in their feet. Or tentacles. Or claws. Or anything that they used as feet. The only Ravager who didn’t instantly step aside to give Yondu a clear path to the boy was Erech. To be fair, Erech was one of the biggest crew-members on the ship, a violet-skinned, ten-foot tall spiderlike being from way out beyond the Rim.

And the only reason he hadn’t moved was because his back was to Yondu and he hadn’t seen the smile.

Quill saw the smile, though. He could see it very well over Erech’s shoulder.  
Because Erech had lunged forward, snatched Quill off the floor, slammed the kid’s back against one of the bulkheads about eight feet up, and then begun throttling him in earnest. For his part, Quill was trying to pry Erech’s claws off his neck with both hands. He couldn’ta done it anyhow, even with both arms workin right. But he was still tryin, though.

Still turned away from Yondu, Erech hissed laughingly at Quill’s pained expression. And tightened his grip until Quill’s boots even kicked more frantically at the thin air beneath him.

For a moment, Yondu just watched. His widening smile still didn’t reach his eyes. Then he cleared his throat.

“Erech.” he said sweetly. Erech paused, looked over his shoulder. Saw the smile.

Quill hit the floor half a second later with a heavy thwunk, and stayed there for a moment on his hands and knees, coughing as if his lungs were coming out of his chest. Huh. For all Yondu knew, maybe they were. Yondu cut his eyes over at Kraglin, who visibly fought away the urge to flinch.

“How much was that bounty again?” Yondu asked in a low voice. Kraglin swallowed and flicked through a few screens.

“Uh, five billion units, captain. Alive, that is.”

“Ah. And how much if he’s dead?”

Kraglin checked a different screen. “Uh, nuthin. Yeah, nope, there’s zip if he’s dead. Uhhhhhhh and if he’s not in good condition, the bounty, uh wow, the bounty goes down.”

Yondu looked sharply up at this. “By how much?”

Kraglin swallowed hard, sucked at his teeth, and shot a look at Yondu from the corner of his eyes. “Uh, ummmmmmmm, a lot. A lot of a lot.”  
A small part of Yondu noticed Kraglin was guiltily keeping the screen turned away from him. He made a mental note to talk to his co-pilot about insubordination and lying later. As it was, he contented himself with a short “Hm.”

Yondu stood up, pushing the pain in his head away so he could think, and leisurely made his way over to Quill. As he did, he caught Erech’s eye and jerked his head towards the coughing figure on the floor. Erech smiled himself—Yondu was once again impressed by how many teeth that guy had—and pounced forward once again.

It took all of three seconds for Erech to yank Quill upright and get two of his own insectlike arms under Quill’s own flailing ones. Then he clasped those two hands together behind Quill’s head, forcing it down and forwards.

The small and new side of Yondu made a brief appearance again, threading its way through his headache, noticing that it wasn’t quite fair for Quill to have an opponent twice as big and with way more limbs—and in much better condition—jump him from behind like that. And that stretching his arms out and leaving his entire front open and vulnerable had to be excruciatingly frightening. And had to have hurt a lot. Especially with that chest wound still bleedin and full of shrapnel.  
Yondu frowned. Something nagged at him, something more than the bounty conditions—something about making sure Peter was fine, stayed alive, didn’t die. But no.

He had to make sure their escape away from the Xandarian fleet came first. The other thing could be taken care of later.

Yondu waited until he and the boy were, more or less, eye to eye.

“Quill.” He said cordially. “Nice of you to come by, boyo.”

Quill grunted, shuffled his feet weakly for purchase. Erech simply lifted his arms slightly, and Quill’s feet scrabbled as he lost his footing. Again.

“—well, you know.” the kid panted, gaze flicking fruitlessly around the ship, searching for an exit they both knew wasn’t there. “Was in the area. Thought I’d drop in.”

Yondu’s smile widened at the quickly-hidden look of fear in the kid’s eyes. The former Ravager and his former captain exchanged measuring looks.

“Yeaaah.” Yondu said slowly. “ ‘Bout that. You got some folks in here mighty angry with you, Quill. Ready to beat you within an inch of your life. Or worse.” “Oh?” As ever, the boy buried all of his deeper emotions under a mask of heavily weighted sarcasm. “Really? Which—which ones?” The hum of angry muttering began to rise around him again, some of the nearest Ravagers cracking their knuckles menacingly. A sharp look from their captain quelled them. Quill’s eyes flicked round the hostile circle, then darted back to his old mentor.

Yondu shrugged. He didn’t really have time to waste on banter, but it couldn’t hurt anything to humor the kid until their call to Nova Prime and her ship went through.

Might actually help get Yondu’s own point across too, once the call did connect.

He smiled again at Quill, showing all his teeth. “Oh, boyo, can you blame them? We’re done short on funds after those stunts you pulled. Grabbin that Infinity Stone out from under our very noses at the start, and then that rigamorale you tried to pull on Xandar. Dried our revenue streams right up, an—.”

Quill twitched and broke in, expression flickering into something like fear mixed with frustration. “Hey, I told you it was important, man, that stone hadta be safe, and sometimes savin the galaxy has ta come fir—“

His eyes widened in panic as another one of Erech’s arms snaked out and wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air. Yondu continued over the “kccckkk” ing noises coming from Quill as if nothing had happened.

“—and we take what jobs we can. And if that means humorin’ a patron who wants to permanently retire Nova Prime from her position, than that’s what the job is. You unnerstand, right?”

Quill made some more choking noises. Yondu waited a few seconds, then nodded at Erech.

Erech—albeit reluctantly—let go of Quill’s neck. Yondu waited patiently, raising his eyebrows in a “Please continue.” gesture.

When the boy did reply, his voice was a bit raspier than before.

“Aw, come on, man. Outta all the jobs in the galaxy, that was the only one showin up on your radar?” He tried for a friendly grin. It came out more like a pained grimace. “I’m not an idiot, Yondu, not really, I wasn’t born yesterday. Surely there’s somethin better out there that doesn’t involve attackin a fleet fulla’ innocents? Or asssinatin’ a perfectly good head of state…right? Why don’t you try a search and recovery gig? Or find a planetful of wild yarkers that need herding? You should try it sometime, it’s really—” He coughed, hard, once, twice, three times.

When he got his voice back, it was weaker, but had changed, took on an almost chatty, reminiscent tone. “We did that once, and man, was it weird, but you know it was actually kind of fun for two weeks and we got some great stories about it—like, there was this one time it was Rocket’s turn to watch the fire, but we were in the middle of this old forest and this wind kicked up and he’d kind of built the fire waaaaaay too big just to see how high up it would go, and then—“

Yondu’s smile didn’t change, but his voice went utterly flat. He was no fool either. He could tell when the boy was playing for time. Hell, he’d taught him that trick.

“Our current gig was the highest paying job out there.” His eyes glittered. “And as I taught you, boyo, it’s nothin personal. It’s all about the money.”  
Quill’s expression flickered a little at that. “Yeah.” he muttered. Yondu saw his eyes try and pinpoint Erech’s position, then moved round the ship, tallying the hostile looks of the crew. He tried getting free again, almost as if on principle, then sagged when Erech’s arms didn’t move a fraction. “Like this—like this isn’t—personal?”  
The kid’s voice was getting thinner, his breathing worse. Maybe he was running out of that thing Terrans had when they were fightin. Ad-ryn-line, or something like that. Whatever. So long as he was awake for the call. Yondu’s own headache was still going strong and he was hanging in there just fine. Quill could deal with a little pain.

“I neveh said work and pleasure could not be combined.” Yondu said loftily. “Turns out you got a hefty bounty on yer head. Someone wants you pretty bad, boy. More than an infinity stone.” He made sure to say the next words loud, so all his crew could hear them. “Alive, that is.”

Low mutterings of excitement from the crew. The boy’s face went a few shades paler, which Yondu hadn’t thought possible.

“Yaaay.” the kid said weakly, swinging listlessly from Erech’s renewed grip. “That’s….good, I guess….at least they don’t want me dead….” A thought struck him and he seemed to perk up a little bit. “Hey, can you at least tell me who it—“

A shrill sound from the comms unit.

Kraglin poked his head out from where he sat in front of the forward viewscreen. “The call connected, cap’n!” he shouted. “And we have company!”  
Yondu turned his head enough to see two things very clearly. One was the Nova Corps fleet winking into existence around his Ravager ship. Even though he’d had warped to one of the most remote regions in space as soon as he and Peter had come aboard, the Nova Corps fleet had still followed them. Yondu could worry about how they’d done it later. He had known they would, and that was the important thing. Because the other thing he was seeing right now was the very recognizable—and very angry—face of Nova Prime currently filling his comm screen. Yondu’s smile finally reached his eyes.

Now things could get interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	3. Good People Are Gonna Get Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will hit you right in the feels. And probably the pain receptors.

“Yondu Udonta.” Nova Prime said, her voice thin and clipped. “You are—once again—surrounded by the Nova Corps fleet. I am available to discuss the terms of your surrender.”

Yondu never lost his smile as he bowed politely at the screen. “You’re lookin well, Ms. Prime.” he said cordially. “As eveh.”

Nova Prime sniffed, the fresh and painful looking laser burn high up on her cheekbone flushing an angry red. “Your consideration is noted.” she said, expressionlessly. “Now. Lay down your weapons and prepare to be boarded.”

Yondu’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Now why would I wanta do somethin like that?” he wondered aloud. Nova Prime’s eyes flashed.

“Because if you do not, I will give orders to fire on your ship.” Her own smile was thin and dangerous now. “None of my people take kindly to hostage takers. Or to those who attack medical transports or refugee ships. Certainly not a convoy of both. Particularly if my Nova Corps were the ones guarding it.”

Yondu waved her words aside with one long-fingered hand. “Technicalities, Nova darlin. Our real objective was ta assassinate you. No offense meant.”  
Beside her, the curly-haired Denarrian stuttered. “How does that make it better?!” he all but blurted out. Nova Prime shot him a look and he blinked, then closed his mouth over what had promised to be an entertaining diatribe.

Yondu smirked at the man’s brief loss of composure, then schooled his own features back into a friendly mask.

“Not to be difficult or anythin, darlin, but I do see a problem with that scenario.”

Nova Prime’s own voice was flat. “I have heard surrendering in the face of unbeatable odds is fairly straightforward. All you have to do is stop fighting. Or, better yet, not fight at all.”

Yondu shook his head, amused. “No, no, no. Not that scenario, darlin. The one where you have your pretty little police force fire on me and my ship. Or follow us again. Or even keep us here too long.”

There was a brief pause. Her voice, when she spoke again, was even, but a thick undercurrent of tension ebbed and flowed just beneath the surface.  
“And just what problem do you see with that scenario?”

Yondu stepped a few paces to his right and jerked his head over at Quill. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Erech grin widely and lift the boy up a few more feet off the ground. Just to make sure she could see him.

And she did. Studying her closely, Yondu saw the flicker of cold fury that flashed behind her eyes. It was only for a second. Then she was her usual poised self again.  
For an instant, the new and small part of Yondu wondered why someone like that would be worried about someone like Quill. The kid was just some stupid runaway Ravager who’d stumbled into occasional heroism almost as an afterthought. And this was Nova Prime, the head of the Xandarian System and the closest thing to a benevolent queen this side of the galaxy had ever had. Why would she care even a—oh, whatever, his head hurt too much to be thinkin about this right now—

Annnnnd Quill was talkin again. Typical.

“—don’ listen to em, Nova Prime.” he was sayin, words light, but his tone tense and strained. “…know they look like lovable rogues, but—but—but trust me, you do not want to do what these guys say—they, they, uh, eat people, for one thing—an’ they’ll just come back and get you once they—“

“Erech.” Yondu said flatly, keeping his eyes on the screen before him. Erech nodded, once.

Without changing expression, the tall alien turned. And hurled Quill down—hard—onto the floor.

In the middle of the crowd of angry Ravagers.

There was a brief pause. In that instant, Yondu cut his eyes away from the screen, turned his head slightly, and glanced at the scene behind him.

Struggling to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him, Quill looked up at the Ravagers. The Ravagers nearest him eagerly began to move forward, then remembered themselves and looked hopefully over at Yondu. Then, very slowly, Quill looked over and up at Yondu as well.

“…uhhh..…Yondu?” He was gasping for breath, clutching at the arrow splinters still embedded in his shoulder. His voice was ragged, and very small. The kind of voice that knows the answer to a terrible question, but has to ask it all the same. “What…what are you…”

Yondu turned away and didn’t spare him another glance. His head was screaming now, and for a moment he simply couldn’t see. Then he blinked, focused on the Xandarian leader, and found his voice again.

“Boys.” he said, displaying no emotion whatsoever. “Teach him a lesson, wouldya?”

Without turning, he held up one hand. Then snapped his fingers. Once.

There was a sudden swell of sound from the other Ravagers. Shrieks and yells and howls and roars combined with hisses and snarls and the tik-tik-tick sharp claws make on metal—along with a hundred and one other noises, all of them horrible and angry and ugly. Then the mess of sound and fury rushed in upon the lone figure at their center.

In an instant, Quill had disappeared from sight, as if swallowed whole by the milling horde.

After a few more seconds, his voice disappeared too. But not entirely.

Yondu ignored his increasing migraine and the chaos happening behind him, and tilted his head to one side, studying Nova Prime’s reaction.

“The problem that I see with yer scenario, Novah Prime,” Yondu said, voice and face completely sincere, “is that if you fire on my ship—or try and stop us from leavin—good people are gonna get hurt.”

Dull thuds of blows echoed off the metal walls, uneven thumps and kicks and sharp slaps of sound resounding dully through the otherwise silent ship.

Yondu met Nova Prime’s eyes and held them.

“Real hurt.” Yondu said evenly.

Behind him, almost beneath the threshold of sound, something cracked. Yondu’s sensitive hearing picked up on it, wondered what it had been with a tiny part of his mind. Then Quill’s swearing broke off into a scream, the sound thready and bubbling.

Probably a rib, then.

Yondu didn’t blink.

But _gods_ did that scream **_hurt his head_**.

Nova Prime pressed her lips together and her eyes flickered away to the side, trying to see what was going on behind him. Yondu studied her expression, the masked smile never once leaving his eyes. She swallowed, once, then spoke, her voice dry and brittle.

“You already know that we do not make deals with Ravagers. And you certainly do not state the terms of any agreement.”

Yondu grinned at her, his sharp teeth gleaming. “Oh, sure, I know. You certain’y didn’ strike some kinda bargain with Quill and his gang once your shiny lil’ planet was saved, didya? You didn’, say, pardon those criminal records or nothing? Righ? Oh, mah mistake. You did. How is that not strikin a deal with a Ravager? Strikin a deal ta get what you want, to get him ta do the right thing?”

Nova Prime’s face paled. “That—that was different.”

Yondu shrugged. “Sure, sure.” He stepped back, jerked a thumb at the roaring pile of kicking, striking, punching figures, and the thing they were hitting in the center. “You wanna tell the kid that?”

Nova Prime went white and she looked sick. Yondu chanced a look back himself. Welp, Quill was still alive, from what he could see between the forest of legs and tentacles and what-all that his Ravagers stood on. The kid was still movin, if not as well as before. Tryin to roll over an’ crawl away, but he was havin trouble with that bad arm and one leg all twisted unner him. No, wait, he wasn’t tryin to get away. He was goin for one of the blasters.

Yondu felt his eyebrows jump in impressed surprise. The kid hadn’t managed to get it, of course. The Ravager whose blaster it was had slapped his bloody hand away without even tryin. But at least the kid was fightin. At least he was—ah, hell. Taserface had jumped into the thick of it now. The big scarred alien had kicked Quill over onto his back again and started stomping down with those hobnailed boots o’ his at Quill’s good arm. While one of his laughing buddies held Quill’s bad arm down on the other side. That wasn’t going to end—ugh.

That’d been—

—ugh.

A fresh wave of pain throbbed through his head, almost making Yondu cringe in pain. The Ravager captain frowned to himself, hoping that the big ugly bastard and his crony remembered the “alive” part of the bounty on Quill. Bluffing to Nova Prime was all well and good, but he did want the kid at least mostly alive so that the bounty could get collected.

From the co-pilot’s chair, Kraglin yelled at Taserface and his wingman, loud enough to cut through the sound swelling out of the mess of bodies. “OI!” he shouted. “STOP THAT! YOU HEARD THE CAP’N, IT WAS TEACH ‘IM A LESSON, NOT BLOODY MURDER ‘IM BEFORE WE’RE FINISHED!!” Yondu rubbed at his aching temple, and dully noted that his co-pilot sounded tense. Tenser than usual, that was.

Taserface glowered at Kraglin, deliberately raised his boot, and then stomped one final time. Quill’s back arched in pain, but he didn’t scream at the last strike so much as gurgle. It looked like Taserface had gotten his collarbone with that one. Taserface didn’t even spare the kid a glance as he turned and shuffled away through the circle. Just for a second, Yondu—and the Xandarians—caught a glimpse of Quill shakily trying to curl up around his broken arm. Then the circle closed round him again.

Yondu’s flat and hooded gaze flicked away from Quill’s bloody face to the pale ones on the viewscreen in front of him.

In the Xandarian flagship, at his leader’s side, Dennarian Day looked as if he was about to be sick. Or maybe cry. Nova Prime’s mouth thinned as Peter screamed again, the sound thick and forced and almost too dull to be heard. Another rib, perhaps. But the kid ran out of air halfway through, so maybe it’d been a kick to the stomach instead.

Yondu cleared his throat until Nova Prime looked at him again. Yondu shrugged at her outraged expression. “This here is a Ravager matter.” he said blandly. “We’re takin care of our own. You stay outta our troubles, we stay outta yours. We’re not askin the impossible.” His eyes hardened.

“ ‘Specially if you wan’ this boy to see his next sunrise.”

Ugh, screw the kid, his own head hurt. He should really get it looked at. As he waited for Nova Prime’s answer, he idly reviewed the pain medicines tucked away in the (more or less) sterile infirmary a few floors away. There should be somethin there he could use.

And he most definitely was not thinking about the look on Pete—Quill’s face just before the mob had closed in around him. Or how the kid had looked when Taserface had broken his collarbone. Another crack, another cry, another twinge of pain from Yondu’s tormented skull. Really, this was getting ridiculous.

Well, hopefully she’d crack soon. Yondu really didn’t want to miss that five billion unit bounty. Or have blood dry in the cracks on his control room floor.

“Do we have an unnerstandin?” Yondu drawled. “Jus’ let us go. Don’’ follow us. I’m sure you can follow those simple instru’tions.”  
Nova Prime hesitated, looking down at her hands offscreen, biting her lip for just a fraction of a second. Then she looked back up and nodded, once, the motion sharp and angry.

Yondu’s smile threatened to split both sides of his face. He beamed at her. “I’m so glad. Now.” He put on his best condescending tone. “We’re gonna go our way and you and yours’ll stay put right here, okay missy?” He saw Day start to bridle again, and his smile widened. “If you don’t…” he shrugged, gestured behind him. “Who knows what’ll happen.”

Nova Prime made no response, but her angry silence told Yondu he’d made his point. And the sudden shining of tears in one of her eyes told him she actually cared for the kid.

Interestin. Apparently riskin your life to save the universe got you brownie points with goody-two-shoes commanders in the Nova Corps. He’d have to remember that.  
Yondu waited until she nodded again, then snapped his fingers once more. The noise and chaos raging behind him cut off as quickly as if someone had flipped a switch. Without more ado, the leader of the Ravagers whipped round and made his way swiftly back over to Quill.

Not that there was much left of the kid to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	4. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things really don't go as planned. Even really good plans hit a snag. Or a hostage situation.

Yondu studied him for a moment, once again wishing his own screaming headache would stop so he could think for a gorram minute. Then he gestured to two of the other Ravagers, who obligingly grabbed Quill’s bloody arms and hauled him up so that now he was on his knees facing Yondu. The arm Taserface had broken wasn’t bending quite right, but the two Ravagers made it work nonetheless. Yondu glanced over his shoulder at the viewscreen and obligingly moved a few paces to the side to make sure Nova Prime still had a front-row view. He rather thought he heard her suck in a breath when she saw the self-styled “Star-Lord” ’s face. But Yondu had to make sure his bargaining chip was still breathing before continuing onwards with his plan.

Besides. The bounty was for a live Quill. Not a dead one. If Kraglin was to be believed. Yondu shot a glance over at his subordinate’s face, and was a little surprised to see the usually impassive Ravager hanging back near the co-pilot’s chair, gnawing his lip and looking…puzzled? Distressed? Sick? Worried? Yondu shook his aching head once in weary irritation. He’d deal with Kraglin later. He had something else to deal with first.

Yondu crouched down so that his eyes were, more or less, on a level with Quill’s. It would have helped if the kid’s head wasn’t hanging down, or if the kid had been even marginally responsive.

Yondu’s head screamed at him. Dast headache.

He ignored the pain as best he could, focusing on Quill’s bloody face. No sign of life. Yondu snarled in exasperation. Then slapped the kid across the face, once, twice. Hard.

“Wake up.” he said harshly.

No response.

A third slap seemed to do the trick. Just across from his own, one bloody eye slit open a tiny fraction of an inch, the thin slit of blue almost invisible in the bruised and darkening face.

Yondu smiled pleasantly at it. “Listen, boyo. If you have anything you wanta say to your friends, you should say it now. Since you might not see em again for awhile. If eveh.”

Quill’s eye opened a little more at that, drifted for a moment, then found and focused on Yondu. Sudden, awful pain—a kind that had nothing to do with cracked ribs or busted collarbones or broken arms or shrapnel—quickly flashed through it for a second. Then the kid’s eye closed. When it opened again, the pain was gone. Well, no. Not gone. But it was buried, under a mask nearly as good as Yondu’s own.

“Yeah…” the boy rasped, painfully. He cleared his throat. Spat out some blood onto the (admittedly already disgusting) floor of the ship beneath him. He cleared his throat with difficulty. Once, twice. Slowly, painfully, he looked over and up at the viewscreen.

“Prime…’nd…Day…did…” his voice trailed off. He fought for the next few words, achieved them with a visible effort.

“Did you guys find…all the bombs…on your ships yet?”

Silence.

There was stunned silence in the Ravager ship for a moment. Yondu blinked as Nova Prime cleared her throat and then said, with a small, warm, somewhat wavery smile, “Yes, Star-Lord. Your team located and disposed of them accordingly. They just finished.”

The boy nodded, as if to himself. “Good, good. Thas’ good.” he muttered. Then he took in a painful, deep breath.

And screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking halfway through.

“ALFRED!! ACTIVATE STASIS PROTOCOL!”

Yondu blinked, rubbed one sore ear. Glared reproachfully at Quill. Who, for some inexplicable reason, was grinning all over his bloody and battered face. Then Yondu noticed something else that was strange about Quill’s face.

No, not Quill’s face.

The light.

The reflected light that was shining off of Quill’s face. And the walls. And the other Ravagers standing around. As Yondu looked around his ship, the light coming in from the viewscreens began to oscillate, a gentle spring-green color rippling and spreading over every visible surface. Yondu whipped his head round, stared unbelievingly at the view outside.

A barrier, forming around the ship. His ship.

A krutaking huge one.

Not, not a barrier. Somethin’ worse.

A stasis field.

That meant they were trapped. Statis fields weren’t the same as shields, per se, they wouldn’t keep things out, but they were barriers, the closest thing anything in space had to a cage. They were supposed to freeze things, to keep things in. It essentially deadened the movement of any targeted ship within its limits. The life support wouldn’t cut out, it wasn’t as if Quill had killed the generators and doomed them all to death, but the Ravager ship was well and truly trapped in the glowing green field. And now the Nova Corps ships were beaming out those krutakin rays they used to take prisoners—

—the rays touched the statis field surrounding the ship, his ship, froze them in place, drew them up, stopped them the way it did human prisoners—

—prisoners—

—Wait—

Yondu froze, realizing what the kid had done. His headache worsened quickly, pain clawing its way through his skull.

Yondu drew up, expression cold and remote. And the smile had left his eyes.

But now there was one in the boy’s.

“Wha—?“ Quill panted, eyes blazing, breath catching, “you—you think, you think you’re the only one who can personalize, personalize sonic, sonic tech? Or who, who plants things on the outside of other people’s, other people’s ships?” As he spoke, the ship’s lights flickered off, than on, then snapped into emergency mode, the low light buzzing and humming, throwing previously well-light areas into shadow.

Yondu realized he was gritting his teeth, and his fist was so tightly clenched that his nails were digging into his palms.

“You.” he said, and his voice was so low almost no one could hear it. “You captured me. And my crew. And my ship. Stopped us cold. Jus’ like that.”  
Quill’s grin had an edge to it. “Yup. Well, the plan wasn’t fer me to be in your ship, but, ya know,” he shrugged, “things happen.” His grin got just a little wider. “Still worked, though.”

Yondu felt his headache worsen, knew red fire was building up behind his eyes, clenched his fist harder to keep it in check. Quill was still talkin away.

“—cuz, well, I know how you operate, so I told Nova Prime to check all the life support systems and engine rooms on her fleet and the refugee ships because, I knew that if you put Kraglin in charge of the pre-mission sabotage, he’d go for the engine rooms, because he’s efficient like that, but if Tetch or Taserface did it, they’d have put the bombs in the life support systems, because they’re jackasses, and then I explained to the Xandarians your little trick of remotely activating all the bombs once you were a safe distance away to keep anyone from following you, so, they did check, and, now the bombs are gone, and you guys are stuck here, so, hahaha, gotcha.”

Quill smirked up at Yondu, somehow managing to look triumphant and smug despite his numerous injuries, two black eyes, bloody nose, and still-bleeding scalp wound. “So, yeah, I should probably be gettin back to my crew.” He adopted a drawl that sounded suspiciously like Yondu’s. “So if ya’ll would let me go now, I’d greatly ‘ppreciate it.” He coughed a little, caught his breath. Then continued gamely onwards. “ ‘Sides…uh…if you cooperate with them now…maybe you can get leniency or lightened sentences or somethin.” Quill shrugged a little, looking around. “Ya know, for when you guys were…uh, heroes, back on Xandar.” He looked up at Yondu, his expression almost hopeful. He saw the look on Yondu’s face and his voice trailed away. The kid swallowed hard, then said, in a less cocky tone, “All…all things considered…and considering the shit you tried to pull today—that isn’t…isn’t…too….bad….an’ let’s face it, with your ship dead in the water and surrounded, you don’t have anywhere else ta go now….soo…” His voice wavered a little, the silence stretching out between them.

The Ravagers holding Quill looked at each other, then at Yondu. All the heads in the circle turned to see him too.

Yondu’s lips thinned. On the viewscreen, Nova Prime waited, expression calm, but her eyes tense.

“Yondu Udonta.” she repeated, evenly. “We will still accept your surrender. And can promise that your crew—“ her voice was carefully neutral, but her eyes went to Quill’s bloody face and, for just an instant, became a little less impassive, and a little less kind. She paused for a fraction of an instant, then continued. “I will promise that your men, when taken into custody, will receive fair and honorable treatment at our hands. There need be no further—“

Yondu muted her. And turned back towards Quill.

“You.” he said, quietly. His eyes—glowing bright red now—briefly turned from Quill’s face to the tiny little sensor Yondu always carried, tied around his wrist. A proximity sensor. It’d just started to flash in time to the thunder pounding through his ears. He tapped it with one finger, brought it up closer to his face. A tiny little speck appeared in the miniscule screen, the view zooming in to give him a look at the build and make.

Huh. A familiar ship was drifting closer to their hull. One of the Milano’s shuttles. It must have been modified to move through the stasis field. But who would be stupid enough to—

Ah. Of course.

Quill’s would-be rescuers. In his mind’s eye, Yondu could all but see the cockpit and the bunch of pathetic little gutter trash his former subordinate had cobbled into a crew. He could practically see the little rodent’s evil grin of glee, the intent and angry expressions on the assassin and the gladiator, and the happy little jumps of the tiny tree thing.

They thought they were invisible.

They thought they were safe.

Quill thought they were too.

He looked back at Quill. And then he smiled down at him, red eyes glinting, sharp teeth gleaming white in the shadows that danced and swayed throughout the trapped Ravager ship.

Over in the co-pilot’s seat, Kraglin swallowed.

Almost absentmindedly, Yondu started to whistle. A thin streak of red light appeared, streaking up through the darkness from the workshop a few levels below them. The slender line of dancing light slowed, hovered at the level of Yondu’s shoulder. At a signal from its master, the arrow shot forwards, towards the main control panel. There was a flash, a sudden burst of noise and light.

And then all the lights in the ship guttered out. When they flickered back up, Nova Prime was looking at an empty command room.

“Shit.” she breathed, and glanced down at the small screen in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	5. Playing for Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Guardians of the--STOP ARGUING FOR ONE KRUTAKIN SECOND--Galaxy.

“Tha’s weird, Quill still isn’t answerin his comms, why won’t he answer his comms? Dast idiot, he should just answer his friggin comms, why isn’t he answerin?”

“Possibly because he is a prisoner, Rocket, they probably took his comms! And he can’t exactly just call us when he’s being held hostage.”

“Friend Gamorra, that does not necessarily follow, our comrade Lord-of-the-Stars often manages to keep his comms active even in the strangest of circumstances. Do you recall that time when we’d lost our way in the Ever-Changing Forest, and—“

“Drax, this is Yondu we’re talking about, we’re going to be lucky if Quill’s even alive or conscious at this point, the guy has a grudge against him three galaxies wide—“

“Yondu isn’t stupid, Gammy, he’s mean but he ain’t stupid, there’s no way he’d just kill Quill like this, not now he’s got nowhere to go and half the Xandarian fleet watchin what he does. He can’t just off our pal, it’s a bad move. Also, I’d blow his head off.”

Rocket leaned forward in the pilot’s seat, adjusted a few throttles, leaned back with an evil sigh betokening immense satisfaction. “Nice job getting Nova Prime there to distract the Ravagers for us. Gave us time to finish defusin the bombs and then head out to get Quill.”

Drax nodded, giving his knives a final check.

“Indeed, Nova Prime did an excellent job of focusing Yondu’s attention. I think she deeply cares for Quill.”

“Ew, gross!”

“Not in a mating sense, Rocket, she cares for him as a mother cares for her child, what sort of mental process do you use?!”

“SHUT UP!” Gamorra yelled, then visibly cut herself short and looked down at her lap. A trembly “I am Groooot?” wavered up towards her hearing, and the tiny tree holding on to her seatbelt looked up at her with itty bitty tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” she told the little tree. Then, more severely, to her teammates, “Rocket, Drax, we have to focus. Quill needs us—Day didn’t send me much, but I think those bas—“ she looked down at the tree again, fumbled over her words for a second, then continued on smoothly—“those bad men hurt him pretty, uh, bad. Here, I’ll send what I have to you—check your screens—”

There was a brief blip of sound as the message was delivered, and an even shorter pause as Drax and Rocket began to read the information.

The little tree, on the other hand, had still been thinking about what she’d told the others. His brow furrowed in worry as he grasped the end of it, and his little gasp of horror drew Gamorra’s irritated attention away from the sudden swear-fest that Drax and Rocket began to indulge in.

“I…I am…Groot?” he ventured, limbs shaking slightly. She forced herself to smile at him.

“Of course you can help him get better.” she said encouragingly. “And it’s not just the lights you can summon. Of course, those do help with healing, but it’s not just that. Your sweetness, your kindness, your heart—“ here she tapped his chest lightly, and he smiled a little—“all that will help Quill get better too, will remind him of the special bond all of us share. You know. Our friendship, our care for each other, our—“

One of her eyes twitched as Rocket punched at his screen, howling something needlessly graphic about what he was going to do to people who stepped on arms before they broke them. Drax was yelling too, about dishonorable cowards and weaklings who had to attack a single injured warrior in a group to maintain their courage. The ruckus in the small shuttle was making Baby Groot’s leaves quiver in anxiety and worry for their friend. The former assassin paused, took a deep breath, and tried again.

“—remind Quill about the love and our bond and the—ohmyGODS STOP YELLING YOU GORRAM IDIOTS!! YOU ARE SCARING THE BABY!!” she screamed.

Surprised and slightly guilty silence followed.

Gamorra composed herself with another deep breath, then smiled brightly back at the worried brown eyes studying her. “It’ll be all right, little one. You’ll see.”

Rocket coughed, hard, working his controls a little harder than was necessary. “Yeah, lil’ buddy, we’ll get him back. No worries.”

Drax studied his screens with a frown. “Indeed, your healing abilities will be crucial to Peter’s health, if these notes are to be believed.”

“Drax.” hissed Gamorra, and even Rocket said out of the corner of his mouth, “Don’t scare the kid, buddy, he’s gonna freak out if you’re not careful—“

Drax looked puzzled, then bowed his head apologetically back towards the quivering little twig. “I am only saying you are a vital member of this team, and that your intervention is likely to significantly extend Quill’s lifespan and ease his current agonies. I do not wish to frighten you.”

“I…I am Groot.”

“Knew you had it in ya, lil’ buddy.” Rocket growled. Then he flicked harder at a patch on his viewscreen. “Hey, it jus’ went dark in there. Everythin was set up to be a simple hostage recovery from the bridge, and now all the dast lights are out. Gammy, Nova Prime have any idea what’s goin on?”

Gamorra checked her screens. “No. She says they left the bridge. But she can still hear what’s going on inside. She’s patching us through to hear what she does.” Gamorra flipped a few switches, increased a few levels on her screens. “I’m going to boost our tracking system. We need to pinpoint where they took him so we can figure out the best place to breach the hull. It sounds like Peter needs a med team ASAP, and I don’t want to fight anyone we don’t have to on our way out.”

Rocket growled deep in his throat. “A’ least we got a Xandarian medical transport a couplea seconds away. That’ll help.”

Then the transmission fully crackled into life, and Gamorra felt her heart stop.

There were muffled sounds at first, dull thuds and whuds that were distant and faint over the comms. Somebody grunting in pain.

Oh.

Peter.

It was probably Peter being hit.

Then Yondu’s voice sounded, buzzing through the static. And he sounded angry. The distant whumps and thuds—and the pained sounds following them—became awful punctuation to the tirade of words lashing out over the airwave.

“—lenty of little shits out there whose parents didn’t want em, who were bein trod on, who didn’ have a home left to go to—”

A low, deep snarl from Rocket sounded, but he quickly stopped as the rant went on. Every word caught by their speakers fed the signal, and drew them closer to getting their friend out of there.

“—Hell, boy, most of them are on this here crew! I gave them a chance, I gave them a life, an none, NONE a’ them are ungrateful like you—”

Drax snorted at that, then also visibly forced himself to be quiet. He flicked a few screens with his big fingers and bared his teeth in frustration at the weak readings. Yondu’s voice ranted on.

“—you are who you are because of me, boyo. You threw it all away, and why? Because you’re weak, boyo! You’re soft! You’re a dast coward—“  
Groot said nothing, but Gamorra heard the tiny leaves on his head rustle as they stood straight up in indignation. Then he whispered “I am GROOT.” with such anger in his thin little voice that Gamorra looked down in surprise. Then she flicked her eyes back to her screen. They were close to focusing the signal. But not close enough.

Dammit why’d the Ravager ship have to be so big.

“—You side with the strong uns and hide behind the Nova Corps!! And do you know why, boyo?” A brief pause. Somebody spat. Yondu paused for a second, then continued on. “Because you’re scared, boyo. You’re scared of tryin to make it on your own, because you know, you know that deep down inside a’you, you’re not a hero. Hell, you ain’t even a very good person.” The thumps stopped. Something heavy dropped to the floor.

Then the Ravager captain spoke again. It sounded tired, somehow. “You just like pretendin to be.”

Gammora realized her knuckles were white from tightly gripping the arm rests of her seat.

“Rocket.” she hissed, voice thin and hard. “I don’t have enough data here, do you have anything?”

“It’s comin, Gammy, it’s comin.” he said, voice brittle. “I can’t—argh, I can’t—DAMMIT!! Some gorram thing is screwing with our scans, I can’t find Quill!”

Drax turned slightly in his seat. “Would it help if I hit something in the engine?”

Rocket began to snort in derision, but then stopped himself short. “Uh—no, Drax. I’ll try rewiring a couple of things. Watch my screens.”

A ringed-tail streak shot across the floor of the shuttle and disappeared into a service hatch. Gamorra felt a tiny hand curl around one of her pinky fingers, and a tiny

“I am Groot…” barely made it to her ears. She stroked the little head, wishing she could reassure him. She wasn’t so optimistic herself.

Then silence fell. The only sounds in the shuttle were the hum of the engines. And Rocket’s fretful mutterings emanating from somewhere in the wall.

Silence over the comms. Occasionally static buzzed in, and then faded out again. The signal—still weak—began to fade.

Then another voice spoke.  
“Oh, shut up.” it said, and even though the voice was rough and worn and not even very loud, it was certainly recognizable.  
Gamorra felt something surge within her and she sat up straighter, eyes bright and staring out into the darkness surrounding the little shuttle. In her lap, Groot perked up, eyes shining as he reached out his little hands for his friend who wasn’t there yet.

“IamGroot!” he warbled happily, and danced a couple of steps, almost losing his footing and falling to the ground.

“Quill!” Drax said, a fierce smile lighting up his face. “He is not yet dead!” From inside the service hatch, Rocket growled something like “..’bout dast time, he was givin me a friggin heart attack over here—“, but then Gamorra hushed them all as she leaned forwards, trying to listen. There was some sort of throbbing beat in the background of the transmission too, too regular to be coincidental, but too low to be easily recognizable.

She sat straight up.

“The engines!” she breathed. “Rocket, they’re in an engine room! Can you figure out which one it is?”

Rocket poked his head out of the wall, his whiskers dirty, his expression simultaneously stressed and enraged. “No, I can’t, there’s like, ten engines room on that dast ship, and it still don’t help us, Gammy! The signal’s still jammed, it won’t track Quill. Somethin super powerful is throwin it off!”

“Can you triangulate instead?” she asked. Her friend stared back at her, utter bewilderment on his striped face.

“Huh?”

“Triangulate the speech patterns, the sound waves.” she said earnestly. “If we know what Yondu sounds like, and we know what Peter sounds like, and we know they’re talking to each other—“

Drax joined in, his eyes kindling. “-and that the ship’s engines are nearby—“

Rocket finished, his eyes lighting up in the dangerous grin that prison guards across the galaxy had learned to dread—“hey, yeah, I can try that, it might work—”  
Then their captain’s voice cut in, and Rocket disappeared back into the guts of the ship, swearing at the twisting strands of wire with newfound ferocity. Gamorra’s attention shot back to the comms.

“—callin’ me coward? Are you kidding?” Peter drawled.

Gamorra felt a fierce pang of pride as he continued. He might be in worse shape than a drunk Yendarian warrior after New Solstice’s Day, but she’d never seen anyone yet who could break Peter Quill’s spirit. Or stop him from talking, her brain added wryly. Drax looked over his shoulder at her and gave a broad grin and an enthusiastic thumbs up as Peter’s voice continued to buzz over the comms. Hopefully Rocket was getting close to figuring out his position. She drummed her fingers on the hilt of the sword hanging by her side. Meanwhile, Peter’s voice continued to thread in over the speakers.

“You—you—you whine about how you got your, your ass handed to you by jerks, or space pirates, or other jackasses, but look at what you’re doin!”

Peter stopped talking for a second, and Gamorra heard him fighting hard to get a breath. Oh, stars. His lungs didn’t sound good. He was wheezing and it sounded like it hurt to talk, or even to breathe, and it was this obvious even over a crappy connection. What if they were too—

There was a soft scrabbling sound, and a tiny little pressure on her neck. She looked around and down into the encouraging face of a tiny tree. He smiled at her and hugged her neck again. “I am Groot.” he whispered confidently, and Gamorra fought back the sudden urge to either laugh or cry, she wasn’t sure which. During all her long, terrible years with Thanos, she’d never thought she’d live to be free. Or have friends.

But she had. And she did.

Granted, the adventures they went on were hair-raising, badly organized, and usually life-threatening. They lived in a cramped and grungy spaceship and often got on each other’s nerves. But at least they had each other. And she couldn’t image losing a single one of them. Not one. Peter’d gotten his breath again and kept talking, even though his voice rasped on every word.

“You’re…you’re the bad guys…here.” Gamora could almost see him jerk his head weakly around for emphasis, the way he always did to physically emphasize what he was saying. “Shootin up ships, and stealin from people—“ Her captain paused for an awkward moment. She thought he was definitely NOT remembering their last (and rather widely publicized) little encounter with the black market baron Shiream Neverset.

Then Peter gathered his thoughts together and gamely continued, “—well, well—uh—stealin from good people—that’s bad!” He coughed and continued, his voice gaining strength as his conviction increased. “I’m, I’m not—stupid, Yondu, y—y—you are! Ha, yeah, fine, life mighta dealt you and a lotta people a shitty hand at poker, I’m not denyin that. Sometimes the hand you’re dealt friggin sucks.” Another deep breath that trailed off into a cough near the end. Peter was running out of steam now, but he’d held on.

Gamorra felt a swift flicker of pride in her captain. He might have been ludicrous and over the top sometimes, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. And he could spin tales and stall for time like no one she’d ever met before.

Really.

No one else in thirteen star systems talked as much as he did.

It was kind of incredible.

Which is why they had this “Plan Peter” scribbled down—with other, even less likely ones—in a scruffy wad of papers stuffed in the gauntlet compartment. The “Plan Peter” was, in all its entirety, this: If you are captured, just keep the other guys talking for as long as you could until that your fellow Guardians could come find you. And then they’d wipe the floor with the bastards who’d taken you away. It was quite simple, really.  
Peter’s voice finished his retort to Yondu. “It’s, it’s how you play the hand you have that matters.”

A brief silence. Then Yondu, puzzled.

“Poker? Whas’ that, boy? An’ why does it only have one hand?”

Peter groaned in frustration. “ARAGH, that’s not the point, man, it’s about how what you choose to do that matters. What you do with your life, the choices you make, man, that decision is yours.”

Silence for a moment, both in and without the Ravager ship. Then Yondu spoke again, his voice flat and dull.

“True enough, boyo. It is that.”

A pause. A rustle, as if someone was turning away. Then Yondu’s voice again, deceptively quiet.

“There is one otha thing.”

There was a moment where Peter didn’t reply. When he did, his voice had faded, and it was clear he’d lost a lot of momentum very quickly.

“Ugh, wha’ is it?” he said, exhaustion and pain threatening to break through his voice. “m’ tired. An’ I’m not gunna tell you how to take down the stasis field. You asked me that already on the way down here, an’ I said no. Like, fifteen times. So stop beatin me up already.”

“It’s not that, boyo.”

“Yeah, then what is it.” Quill muttered.

When it came, Yondu’s voice was mild, almost kind. “It’s mah arrow.”

“Your…what?”

“Mah arrow. The one you broke back in Nova Prime’s ship. I need it back.”

Peter’s voice gained a shade of color, its tone changing from utterly exhausted to faintly confused. And, just barely audible under the surface, a deepening shadow of fear. “Why are you askin me that, it’s broken, into like, dozens a’ little splinters, you know that, you saw that, you know I can’t—“

Then, abruptly, suddenly, awfully, Peter’s voice cut off, as if a sudden blow had slammed all the air out of his lungs.  
In the sudden silence, a tiny sound filtered in, as if from a far distance. A faint sound, lilting, melodic, cheerful.

Someone whistling.

And then Peter screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	6. Lost for Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Guardians see Peter and in which they are not amused. Also, still evil (mind controlled) Yondu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yondu's not the villain in this work I swear!) Trigger Warning: An item called a scold's bridle/brank's bridle first appears in this chapter. It was a rather cruel historical torture/humiliation device used to shut people up (the victims ranged from slaves to people who gossiped, etc.) It's described in a little more detail in chapter 8, but just be warned that it first shows up in this one).

Gamorra had heard a lot of screams. During her time as one of Thanos’ experiments, she’d done a fair amount of screaming herself. After that, when he’d turned her into one of his master assassins, she’d heard an immeasurable number of them. She’d been responsible for some, if truth be told. (Those screams were the ones that haunted her dreams the most. Not her own, not from being cut open, modified, trained, remodified, trained, and nearly killed dozens upon dozens of times, not those, because the ones she’d caused hurt her worse, far worse, hence the nightmares).

  
It wasn’t that she enjoyed screams, or ever got used to hearing them, real or remembered. The truth was they just didn’t scare her very much anymore. It was like hearing thunder boom out after lightning split the skies during the heavy rain seasons on Mersoon. It wasn’t normal, or fun, or an ‘every second of every day’ occurrence. It was just something that happened.

Again.

Screams did not scare her.

But now Peter’s did.

Gammora shot out of her chair as if she’d been electrified, Groot hanging desperately on to her neck as if his tiny fingers were glued to her skin. She grasped at the thin spacesuit packet she had in her hand and slashed it open with her fingers, feeling the invisible insulating layers ripple out over her, enclosing her and Groot in a thin, transparent, but extremely sturdy cocoon, perfect for spacewalking or emergency evacuations.

Or for jumping into space, carving a hole in a space-pirate ship, and then gutting scores of Ravagers alive on her way to find her friend.

Drax was at her side, pulling out his own packet, ripping it open with his teeth, clutching both his knives in one hand. He and Gamorra shared a look. The screams were scaring them both.

Rocket’s head shot out of the panel, and he saw and squawked at their suits and the looks on their faces. He half-fell, half-leapt to the floor.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, guys, slow down—“

When she spoke, Gamorra barely recognized her own voice. Then she realized she was screaming too.

“He’s dying, Rocket!” She flung a hand up at the speakers. “We don’t even know where he is or what’s going on, and he’s dying!”

Rocket yowled in frustrated panic and leapt for his gun, slamming his own spacesuit into being around him as he did so.

“That’s the problem!” he roared, teeth bared, eyes wide in shared terror for their friend. “The scans STILL ain’t workin and we don’t know where he is! He could be anywhere on that dast ship! And if we blow the wrong spot or depressurize the wrong airlock, QUILL GETS SUCKED INTA SPACE!!”  
The screams from the comms kept going. If anything, they got worse. Meanwhile, in the shuttle, Quill’s teammates shouted at each other for what seemed an eternity, trying desperately to formulate some sort of strategy, come up with different scenarios or counter-measures they might take. Anything to get their friend back.

They were pathetic.

They couldn’t even form twelve percent of a plan. They tried. They really, really did. But they couldn’t. Not even twelve percent.

Then, all at once, the screams tearing through the speakers gurgled, strangled. Stopped. Just like that, they were gone. Completely.

Gamorra honestly didn’t know if that was better or worse.

Almost immediately, on the screen beside Gamorra, Nova Prime’s face appeared. Gamorra tapped the image, motions precise but barely contained.

“Where is he.” she said, voice flat. “We can’t find him, did you locate him yet, what’s happening to Peter?”

Nova Prime’s voice was calm, but her eyes were hollow. “Not yet. My screens are dark and the only thing transmitting is our audio feed. In addition to that, something strong is interfering with our signals and preventing us from locating Quill. My men are ready to help but unable to move without attracting Yondu’s attention. Quil—Star-Lord’s best chance for rescue is with you. It’s not optimal, but if you board the ship, you could make it—Yondu shouldn’t know you’re there, you can still take him by surp—”

Then Nova Prime’s voice cut out, although her lips were still moving. Then the woman’s image flickered, ghosted. Disappeared.

In its place, a new image sprang up.

Not of one person. A group. With two people in the foreground, lit only by the light of a hovering arrow that illuminated the scene with angry red light. The figure closest to them, a blue-skinned Ravager with a sharp smile and gleaming scarlet eyes, was smiling at the camera. Almost as if he could see them.

No. Exactly as if he did see them.

The other figure was on his knees, hands cuffed tight behind his back. One shoulder was visibly broken, and Gamorra dimly noticed that, even kneeling as he was, one leg was twisted the wrong way. Even as they watched, the figure listed suddenly, and would have fallen over onto his side were it not for the two Ravagers standing behind him with their hands—well, in one guy’s case, insectlike claws—tightly gripping his shoulders. The man’s head hung down, obscuring his face from the camera. Blood dripped down onto the floor beneath him. For an awful moment, everything was very still.  
He didn’t seem to be breathing.

Then the blue-skinned man winked at them, reached out, and ruffled his hostage’s hair with one hand.  
“Say hey to your friends, Peter.” he said cordially. Then he grabbed a fistful of hair and roughly yanked the man’s head backwards, harsh red light falling suddenly onto his face. Peter blinked, expression dazed, and then suddenly seemed surprised—or scared—or both—to see them.

So much for their element of surprise.

And they still didn’t know where he was. Or how to get to him.

On her end, Gamorra swallowed hard and fought back the urge to scream. Or cry. Or both. Then she forced herself to study the damage calmly. She had to know what was wrong in order to fix it. Or tell the people who knew how to fix it what was needed. Um. Oh, gods. There was so much that was broken now. Um. He still had both his eyes. So that was good. They were tired and awful and almost invisible behind their heavy bruises, but she could see them a little bit at least. Um. What else. Both ears, mostly on. Um. As for the rest of him, and the rest of his face…oh, gods, what had those bastards—

—the hell with this, she’d just get in there, grab him, and drag him to the nearest medical transport so fast he’d be in danger of getting flarging whiplash—

—and while he was recovering she wouldn’t complain about listening to his tunes on endless repeat—

—and she’d never again say that a dance-off was a stupid way to resolve a fight—

—and maybe she’d finally tell Peter she’d been learning to dance, a little, she’d been meaning for it to be a surprise but—

—and she’d have the chance to do all of that, she would—

—because he’d certainly be fine after this—he had to be—had to be because he was—

—oh—

— _Peter_ —

On her shoulder, Groot gasped, once, and then let out a broken sounding wail. “Iiiiii ammmmm Groooooooot,” he sobbed, and buried his little head against her neck, hiccuping forlornly as he tried, without success, to hide from the brutal reality of what was happening to their friend.

Drax, for his part, said nothing. It was not that he had no words. It was that he could not form them. As on that horrid day, long, long ago, the day he’d cradled both his dead wife and his dead daughter in his arms, he found himself silenced by the overwhelming strength of his emotions. He had been as he now was, literally incapable of vocalizing anything. So for now, he just looked. And saw. And swore that he would remember every last detail until the debt was paid.

Rocket, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped letting out a low growl since Yondu had hijacked Nova Prime’s signal. Now the ugly little growling changed, grew and spread throughout his chest, blossomed rapidly, and then burst out into one of his rare but full-out snarls. The full throated and predatory sound was eerily loud and almost, on the surface, laughable, coming from such a small animal. Until one noticed the pointed canines shining sharply underneath glittering eyes. And those eyes were just a little too brutally intelligent and a little too recklessly crazy to be anything but absolutely unnerving.

Yondu smiled at them all through the camera. “What was that?” he asked politely. Rocket snarled again and pointed at the screen with an emphatic claw. Which was holding one of his guns. The biggest one, as a matter of fact.

“I said,” Rocket snarled, baring each and every fang in his head, “nobody puts a muzzle on my friend. So take it off! He’s a person, not a pet, you pyscho.”

Yondu affected surprise, looking down at Peter. “Aw, this ol’ thing?” He released Peter’s hair and affectionately chucked him under the chin, tapping the muzzle where the dark metal fitted tight against his jawline. Then he ruffled Peter’s hair again, fingers brushing over the thick band that ran between his prisoner’s eyes and curved over the back of his head. The chin tapping and the hair ruffling were just a little too hard to be perfectly friendly, and the motions jerked Peter’s head painfully back and forth. And kept forcing him to face the screen. “It’s fine.” Yondu said easily. “He jus’ wouldn’t stop bein a smartass. Ya know how he is.”

At that, Peter made a muffled sound, his unbroken shoulder tensing. With a visibly painful effort, he managed to twist his head out from under Yondu’s grip. Smirking, Yondu let him go. Peter glared blearily at him out of the corner of his eye, then briefly flicked his eyes back up towards their screen. His expression flickered into a grimace at what he saw. He seemed, in that instant, tired. Even a little scared.

He hadn’t looked like that before he realized they’d been spotted. He’d been fine as long as he still thought his team was protected by the element of surprise.

Dast idiot, Rocket thought angrily. Always concerned for everybody’s hide except his own. And now, for once, he had no smart alec quip to make or sarcastic joke with which he could defuse the situation. For obvious reasons.

Rocket frowned to himself, refusing to notice the exhausted slump of Quill’s shoulders or the dull lightlessness in his eyes. Rocket also refused to nervously think that Quill had certainly not looked like that this morning, or when he’d been kicking Ravager tail with the rest of the team. And Rocket absolutely refused to remember that Quill had only started to look that bad after Yondu—the guy who’d raised him from a scrappy little kid into a fast-talking, sharp-shooting Ravager—had thrown him to his vengeance-hungry crew like so much raw zereth bait to a bunch of starving kresters. Dast guy’d done it without even breaking a sweat. Finally, Rocket definitely and categorically decided to forget how crushed Quill had looked when Yondu did that. Even before he’d had the snot knocked out of him by like, sixty guys. (Well, sixty-one, if you counted the two headed guy in the back twice.)

And now? With Yondu muzzling him like he was some dast pet (whatever the frak a pet actually was) and treatin this whole thing like a joke (Rocket knew too well what that felt like)…just, just, wow.

Unreal.

  
Well, Rocket told himself, they were gonna get him outta there in a few ticks, and wreak merry hell upon the Ravagers as they did it, and besides, it was Quill they were talkin about. The guy would be fine.

He always was.

He had to be.

And when all this was over, Rocket was definitely NOT going to sneak around and do all of Peter’s maintenance chores in the Milano for a week. He was definitely NOT going to tinker around with some Erullien speakers he’d found and surprise Quill with them and was, above all, CERTAINLY NOT going to figure out a way to tap into Earth’s “redieo wayves” for that stupid classic Earth “meewsic” that Quill was always goin on about. Pfffffffft. Like Rocket even HAD that kinda spare time.

All these thoughts flashed through Rocket’s head in the time it took him to cock his gun. “I said,” he snarled, “Take it—“

Yondu cut him off with a laugh (Rocket could tell it was a fake laugh) and returned the glare with a smug smile of his own. Then the Ravager returned his gaze to the rest of the Guardians, winking as if sharing a hilarious family joke. “This lil’ thing is just somethin lyin around from the guys who had this ship afore me. Ain’t that right, Quill?” Yondu idly reached out, grasped the head strap, and moved it back and forth. Peter’s head nodded jerkily along with it. Their friend’s eyes slid half-shut as the motion continued, his white face paling even further. Before, he’d looked exhausted, but angry. Now he just looked sick.

Drax growled and Gamorra hissed. Groot whimpered. Rocket hefted his gun with something like utter finality in the action. Yondu was continuing as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He half-turned, spoke to someone standing at the back of the group. “Who was they, Kraglin? The ones who had this ship afore us?”

A man shuffled forward, thin and sharp-featured, staring at the ground. When he spoke, his voice was dull. “Slavers, cap’n.”

Yondu abruptly let Peter go and pressed a hand hard to his forehead, expression twisting as if in intense concentration. Then his eyes shot open again and his grin widened.

“Ya know what they say, waste not, and all that.” he said cheerfully. He laughed again, eyes too bright, the wide grin still on his face. “Whew, I shoulda found this years ago. Then maybe Quill wouldn’ta driven us all halfway to crazy with his neverendin motormouth, am I right, boyos?”

The rest of the group laughed along with their captain. Peter didn’t, for obvious reasons. Neither did the Guardians. But Rocket noticed the guy called Kraglin wasn’t laughing along with everyone else either. Instead, he was staring fixedly, first at Peter, then at his captain, a strange expression on his face. Rocket wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but to be fair, Rocket only had, like, seven or eight emotions he was good at picking up on, so maybe Kraglin wasn’t even having an emotion at all, maybe he was just tryin ta figure out what to have for breakfast tomorrow.

Still. The guy looked…worried.

Why Kraglin was looking worridly at Yondu, Rocket had no freakin clue. And anyway, if it didn’t help him get Peter back, he didn’t give a good godsdamn about it.

“Stop stallin.” Rocket snarled at the screen, raising his voice to be heard over the laughter. “And I SAID,” he growled—

—“I SAID—“

—What had he been saying? He’d been saying something, oh, yeah, Peter, those jerks were hurting Peter, and were treating him like a stupid little lab rat, and Peter was hurt, real hurt, and they were laughin at him, and—

Rocket’s vision tunneled until Peter’s grey face, Yondu, and the Ravagers were the only things he could see, were the only things in the world—

—Yondu was ruffling Pete’s hair again, laughing at him, actually laughing at him, stoppit that was hurting him, stoppit, yousonofabitch—

—Distantly, Rocket felt something sort of important starting to shake loose from his mind, what was it, oh, awareness and self-control, that’s what it was—oh, crap—

—He realized he was screaming, now, the gun pointed directly at Yondu’s face. “I SAID TAKE IT OFFA HIM!”

In the digital image before him, Yondu looked surprised. Behind the mask, Peter’s bleary eyes widened and he started to shake his head frantically, jerking his head out of Yondu’s grip again as he tried to—well, do something, Rocket supposed. Not that Quill could, really.

Rocket didn’t see what happened next.

To be fair, pretty much nobody did. The boom and bright blast of his gun going off at almost point-blank range on the screen blinded everyone for what seemed an eternity, but was really only a few seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	7. Less Than Twelve Percent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket attempts diplomacy. He really does. Why is he stuck with this part of the plan again?

There was a ringing, buzzing sound in his ears. Rocket realized he was still yelling, cocking the gun again, aiming the plasma blaster at the screen again. Yondu was still standing, dammit. He’d flickered back into place as if the first shot hadn’t mattered at all.

  
Gamorra’s voice cut in over his ragged breathing. “Rocket.” she whispered. “You’re still in our ship. You’re firing at a hologram.”

Rocket blinked, hard, stared over at her ramrod straight form, then at the glowing crater in the wall behind the screen. Then over at Drax’s rigid, unmoving profile, and then back at Groot perched on Gamorra’s shoulder. The small tree’s lip was trembling uncertainly. Rocket lowered the gun, his head hanging. “I know.” he said tiredly. “I just…I just wantedta help.”

He blinked hard again, looked back up at the screen. “Jus’ tell us what ya want, ya daft idiot.” He said bitterly. “What’s so important that you gotta hurt Quill like that?”  
Yondu blinked back at him, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. Beside him, Quill shook his head vehemently, either trying to blink the lights out of his vision or mutely tell Rocket “Don’t do that again!” Probably both.

“You’re lucky you didn’t kill everyone on your ship, boyo.” Yondu said reproachfully.

Rocket shrugged. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about Yondu’s opinion. The thing that bothered him more was Quill’s frantically worried stare. But he couldn’t let that distract him right now.

“Yeah, well, whatever. Whadda want?”

Yondu’s smile showed his teeth. “Well, ya see, I already asked Quill, but he just flat out refused to give me an answer. Maybe you can tell me.”

“Ask it already.” Rocket growled. He tapped his claws on the handle of his gun, feeling impatient sweat break out on the back of his neck.

Buy more time.

Buy more time.

Eleven percent of a plan was better than nothing.

As he waited for Yondu to get to the fraggin point, he flicked his eyes over at Drax’s stern figure. And then at Gamorra’s still one. The big guy was still mute as a statue, and Gamorra hadn’t moved from her position at his side. Drax’s fists were tightly clenched at his sides and he was still staring fixedly at the screen. Gamorra was standing stock still, expression cool and bleak as a midwinter in Fereill’s mountains.

The same positions they’d been in since this whole stupid video call had started.

 _ComeonDraxn’Gammyn’Groot hurry up_ , he thought, his mind racing. His holograms were good, but not perfect. F _inish gettin inta the Ravager ship stat. We don’t got a lotta time. I don’ think I can fire at the screen and blind ‘im again without it lookin suspicious. We were lucky you two, well, you three, countin Groot, got outta our ship without anybody noticing. An’ if we don’t get in there and find him soon, Peter’s gonna—_  
_—gonna—_

Rocket refused to consider that possibility. And focused his snarling attention back on Yondu.

“—give me the location of the Infinity Stone.” Yondu looked back down at their friend. “Peter here was most impolite, flat out refused to help me. I’m hopin you’ll be a mite more friendly.”

“Sure.” Rocket said instantly. “I can tell ya that.”

Peter’s eyes widened and he made a muffled sound, shaking his head emphatically.

“Really?” Yondu said, delighted. Rocket’s ears flattened. “Yeah, really.” He mumbled.

Peter grunted and started shifting as much as he could given his injuries, shaking his head harder at Rocket. Without looking back, Yondu gave a little jerk of his head. The insectlike Ravager clutching Peter’s bad shoulder readjusted its grip and squeezed, hard. Just before it happened, Peter realized what was coming, tried to get away.

He couldn’t, of course.

An awful sound, somewhere between a scream and a gurgle, tore out of him, and Rocket bared his teeth as he saw his friend sag in the thing’s grip. He glared at the Ravager.

“I’ll tell ya,” he growled, “if you stop hurtin him. Are we clear?”

Yondu shrugged. “Depends if I like what you say. So. Where is it?”

“With the Nova Corps.” Rocket said easily. Peter’s head was still hanging down. Shit. Maybe he’d passed out. Rocket really hoped so.

Yondu’s eyes went flat. “I already knew that, rat. I’m asking where with the Nova Corps it is.”

Rocket shrugged, deciding to ignore being called a “rat”. It wasn’t worth getting Peter hurt again. Besides, it was worse to actually be a stupid ugly batshit crazy Ravager captain, anyway.

“Beats me.” he said instead. “None of us know.” He paused for a second, then asked, as non-insolently as he could, “Was…that it?”

Yondu’s face grew ugly. “You’re tellin me you have no idea where that Infinity Stone is now?” Behind him, the insectlike Ravager slowly withdrew its redly gleaming claws, smiling through the screens at him. Rocket gritted his teeth and flattened his ears, willing himself to be as impassive as the Gamorra, Drax, and Groot holograms he’d programmed ages ago for just such an emergency. Yondu couldn’t figure out something was weird. He couldn’t figure out their plan. He couldn’t. Not yet.

“Yep.” he said easily. “None of us know. We can’t tell ya what we don’t know.” He saw the spiderlike thing ready itself for another stab, and realized he was talking more quickly than he should if he wanted to seem calm—“—heylikeIsaid, wedon’tknow, andhedoesn’tknoweither, sojuststophurti—“

At another nod from Yondu, the spiderguy stabbed Peter’s shoulder once more. Rocket swallowed hard as Peter made that sound again, but this time it was weaker, fainter. That somehow made Rocket feel worse.

Yondu frowned, bent down. Examined his prisoner intently. He shot a look back up at Rocket.

“You’re not trackin it?” he asked bluntly. Rocket crossed his arms and shook his head. “Nope. You think I’m keeping marks on that thing, you got a screw loose. I never wanna see it, much less ever touch it again. Besides, I’m no Quill, I wouldn’t carry around somethin that can disintegrate solar systems! Especially not in a purse, the way he did.”

One of Peter’s fingers twitched slightly at that and a thin little snort made its way through the mask. Rocket felt a sharp stab of relief spear through him as Quill lifted his head up and opened one eye, just wide enough to glare at him. It was a friendly sort of glare. The kind best friends—or brothers—give each other after an old shared joke. Rocket returned it, then coughed, gruffly.

“So.” he said, wiping a paw roughly across his eyes, “was that your only question? Cuz if it was, we’re done here, and you can just give him back.”

Yondu smiled indulgently. “Not quite.” He waved his hand around him. “Cuz mah ship’s currently, oh, how would you say it, dead in the water.” The look he shot Quill was far from friendly. “Your buddy here wouldn’t tell me how to take the stasis field down. No matter how many times I asked.”

On the last word, he shoved Peter’s head, hard. Peter didn’t even try to avoid the hit this time. His eyes just slid shut, and he started to waver to one side. Yondu snorted and waited for the other two Ravagers to haul him back to rights before continuing. “But mebbe you can tell me how to do it.”

Rocket hesitated just long enough for Yondu’s expression to darken. Oddly enough, Quill’s worn expression gained new life as Rocket’s silence continued. His eyes opened a little, then crinkled at the corners as he looked at Rocket. Then he shot a triumphant glare over at Yondu. Then he clearly outright smirked at his former captain, despite the restraining muzzle.

From the bottom of his heart, Rocket hoped Peter was, if however briefly, enjoying himself. Because the odds of this gambit ending well for Peter or, frankly, any of his friends were…er, not good.

Definitely less than twelve percent, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	8. Few Bullets Short Of A Full Clip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yondu's a few bullets short of a full clip, Peter's still a smart ass, and Rocket just wants to krutakin shoot something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning! The description of the scolds bridle/branks bridle shows up in this chapter. Again, the whole thing is based off historical research, but it is rather intense. If you want to skip it, it's the section between 
> 
> “What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing a shaking claw at the thing Yondu was holding in his hands...  
> up to  
> ...“It’s friggin twisted.” Rocket said, eyes flat and hostile.

Yondu glared impatiently at Rocket. “Well?” he demanded.

  
“Yeeeaaaaaah, see.” Rocket drawled, scratching the back of one leg with his other foot. Buy more time, buy more time, buy more time. “Uhhhhhh, if I tell you how ta take down the stasis field, there’s nothin to stop you from warping away with him. And I kinda need his ornery hide around. He’s helpful around my ship. Ya know. Sometimes. For grabbing wrenches and stuff. And, uh, turns out, I don’t know how to take the stasis field down. Quill rigged it up all on his own, and, uh, yeah, he didn’t tell me about it at, uh, all.” He shrugged, hoping his lying-like-a-rug face was at least a little more convincing than his fake-polite face.

Yondu’s smile, when it came, was ugly. “I see.” He looked from Rocket to Quill, then back again. “Tell ya what.” he said suddenly. He knelt down, roughly grabbed Quill’s face, jerked it back, and started fiddling with the padlock on the back of the mask.

Rocket stared at him. “What are you doin.” he said flatly.

Yondu spared him a brief grin over his shoulder. “Why don’t the two of you have a chat. Maybe you can talk some sorta sense inta him.” Rocket didn’t like the sound of that, but then suddenly there was a brief, short click behind Peter’s head, and the metal straps pressing against his jaw and skull suddenly snapped open in the back.  
Yondu grasped the front of the mask, just under Peter’s eyes, at the thickest point where the bands met. Then he pulled, hard, drawing the mask off and away from Peter’s face. Rocket’s ears went flat as Peter began to cough and gag. Rocket frowned as he saw something something thick and dark slide out from between Peter’s teeth along with the rest of the mask.

“Holy crap, Quill, you okay?” Rocket said, more concern than he wanted bleeding in through his voice. But his friend was doubling over, and coughing, hard, and Rocket was really worried for him, dammit. Blood speckled the dirty ground in front of him, and his teeth, when he looked back up at the screen, were red. Rocket snarled at Yondu.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing a shaking claw at the thing Yondu was holding in his hands.

Yondu shrugged unconcernedly. “ ’s just a brank an’ a bridle-bit, boy, nothing special. You never heard of em? They used to use em on Terra, long time ago. Mutinous sailors, slaves and such. Slavers out here use em all the time to keep troublesome folks like this one—“ his shoulder punch to the doubled up and coughing Peter was not a friendly one—“in line.” From his position on the floor, kneeling beside Peter, Yondu turned the thing around so Rocket could get a better view. He pointed at the shortest piece of metal. “See here? This is the bit, presses down over the tongue, keeps the troublemaker from sayin anything more annoyin then he already has.” One finger flicked the end of the short piece, where something sharp and red glinted in the dim light. “An’ it’s spiked, too. Just ta make sure they don’t try and say much else.” The hand moved on. “These metal straps fit ‘round the face, here, an’ this other strap goes over the head, righ’ between the eyes. The whole thing padlocks togetheh here, over the back of the neck.” Yondu’s smile was bright.

“Ingenious, eh?”

“It’s friggin twisted.” Rocket said, eyes flat and hostile.

Yondu’s eyes were empty. “Gets the job done though.” He looked down at Peter’s still coughing form. “Count yourself special, boyo. I ain’t ever used these in thirty years.”

“—can tell.” Quill got out between coughs. “They’re—gahaahah, disgusting.” It looked like it hurt to talk. But he did it all the same. Rocket felt a tiny flicker of hope start to kindle inside him. Hollow eyes and unsteady voice aside, his captain—his friend—still sounded like Quill. He wasn’t broken yet.

They could do this.

But Rocket had to keep them busy, keep them talking. But now he had Quill to help him, so—at least that part would be easy.  
Quill spat again, made a face. “Plathagh, urgh, gross.” he complained. “Do you know how much rust there was on that thing? My mouth feels like a junkyard full of dyin car parts, that was absolutely terrible. You gotta clean your implements of torture a little bit more, man. Or I’m gonna die of tetanus before we’re even outta this quadrant.”

Rocket felt his momentary happiness at hearing his friend’s voice—and even his usual rambling—morph into anxiety at his words. “What? Really? Quill? You’re dyin?! What’s tetanus?!”

Quill lifted his head a little, squinted, focused his gaze on the transmission. “Oh, hey Rocket.” he said tiredly. He yawned widely. “Uh, nah, it’s just a joke, man. It’z thiz thing we get shots for on Ear—on Terra. If you step on a rusty nail or somethin you could get it and die. Iz a thing.”

Rocket cocked his head, puzzled. “Ya get shot to get better?”

Peter blinked, then moved his head in a “neh” gesture. “Nah, it’z like, an injection, or zummin, to ztop it from happenin. I dunno. I don’ remember, really. Probably there isn’t somethin like tetanus in space.” He thought about it for a moment, eyes unfocused, tracking something Rocket couldn’t see. “Unlez there iz.” he said frankly. He grinned, goofily. “An’ if there iz, I’d probably get it, be the only Terran to git space tetanus, and then I guez I’d jutht be thcrewed, huh, Rockit?”

Rocket opened his mouth to say something else, but then snarled as Yondu slapped Peter hard across the face.

“I’m done with your blatherin, boyo.” the Ravager said, voice icy with rage.

Quill shook his head a couple of times to clear it, and then returned the glare. And his eyes, underneath their bloody brows, were surprisingly lucid, given his slurring incomprehensibility a few seconds before.

“—guess I’m not done with yours though…” he muttered.

Rocket heard the snarky reply over the comms and felt a frantic laugh bubble inside his chest. Yondu stared at his prisoner for a second, slapped him hard again, then grabbed his chin roughly, forcing him to look straight at him.

“I asked you a question.” he hissed.

Peter worked his mouth for a moment, then spat a reddish-black glob as best he could at Yondu. The Ravager jerked back in time, but the phlegm splattered on the shoulder of his red coat. Quill gave him a twisted, mirthless grin, red teeth glinting in the scarlet light.

“An’ I told ya my answer.” he replied. “Like, sixteen times. I dunno. I lost count. Were you counting?”

Yondu’s face was going livid, now, a vein in his temple visibly throbbing.

Rocket thought he should try and intervene before things got any worse. Krutakin Celestials, how bad were things when HE had to be the calm guy? Pretty damn bad, that’s what.

“Uh,” he tried. Then his mind stalled. Furiously, he racked his brains for something to say.

Time.

Buy more time.

Any second now. Any second.

Surely Drax and Gamorra had gotten through already. Surely they’d send him the signal. They’d get Quill, come back here, and they’d all get the hell out of here.  
And it sure looked like Quill hadn’t given up yet.

So all he had to do was—uh, delay, somehow—

Dammit, now Yondu’s hittin Quill again—stoppit, stoppit, stoppit—

“—TELL ME HOW TO TAKE DOWN THE FIELD, BOY! NOW!!” Whoa, spittle there, flying into Peter’s face. Nasty.

Peter, eyes blazing, snarling back. “No way, man, I’m not gonna—“

—WHACK—

Peter’s head snapping to the side, man, this was one hell of a day to be Star-Lord.

Rocket tried to say something that would help the situation but couldn’t, instead bit his lip so hard blood welled up. What the hell good was he in situations like these. The least he could do was watch. Maybe see something he could do to help. Figure out some kinda plan.

On the screen, Yondu thrust Peter away and got back up to his feet, motions quick and angry. He jerked his coat back into place, and, with an effort, smiled at the camera.

“I’m sure you can figure out a way to help us.” he said sweetly. “Talk to ‘im, Peter. Try and make your furry little pet help. Or you, rat, talk to this idiot here. Either one. Figur’ sumethin out.”

Peter snarled louder than Rocket at that. “He isn’t my pet, you jerk, he’s my friend!” Peter turned quickly and looked at the camera fully, now, eyes wide and dark and scared. “Rocket, don’t give him what he wants, okay? Whatever he does, don’t—“

Yondu whistled again, the sound short and harsh. Peter stopped talking abruptly, face paling, jaw clenching tightly shut. He closed his eyes and breathed in hard, once, through his nose.  
Yondu stepped back towards Peter, his whistle intensifying. Peter grunted and jerked at the aliens holding his arms, but even Rocket could see that it was a futile try, they just held him tighter—

—the whistle kept goin, Peter kept getting whiter, his face tightening with pain, the whistle building, now, winding its way into one long shrill note of sound—

—what the hell was going on—

Peter’s back arched, suddenly, the motion fast and painful. Rocket blinked. Something small and sharp had ripped its way out of Peter’s chest, flashed into Yondu’s outstretched palm. Then another glint of light. And another. And another.

Still Peter wouldn’t look at the transmission. His eyes were screwed shut, his teeth gritted. Sweat gathered at his hairline and ran down his temples. But he still didn’t say anything.

Then Yondu narrowed his eyes and clenched his hand, hard. Five flashes of light, all at once, drove their way out of Peter’s chest and back to rest in Yondu’s hand.  
Then Peter’s eyes flew open and he screamed, the sound tearing out of him like a long and bloody spiked chain. It was the same scream from before, but more ragged, more awful, more terrible. Because now Rocket knew what was causing it. And he didn’t know how much more his friend could take. Hell, it was all he could do to stay upright and coherent himself. And he was just manning the freaking getaway shuttle.

Oh, god, Petey, hang on—hang on, pal—

Yondu’d paused for a second, and Peter was choking, spitting words out at the floor—now he’d raised his head, looked into the screen, back at Rocket—

“—don’ do it, guys,” he wheezed, eyes wide and imploring, “don’ do it, please, don’t do it, he’ll get away, an’ come back fer Prime, and then he’ll come back for you guyz, he will—“

More pieces of shrapnel sparked, Peter cried out again. Then he kept talking, voice rasping almost to nothing as he did.

“—he will, he will, he doezn’t give up—you’ll never—never be—safe—don’ let ‘im get away, guys—“

Another set of sparks, too fast for Rocket to see. He snarled something over the comms, he didn’t know what. Quill was fading, now, eyes blank and barely open. Rocket shrieked in frustration. How many pieces of shrapnel were there? Did he really want to find out? Why wasn’t Peter looking at him anymore? At anything anymore?

“QUILL!” he he yelled. “DAMMIT, PETEY, OPEN YOUR EYES!” He swallowed hard, cast around for something to say. “Or I’ll tell Yondu how to get outta this stasis field!” he threatened. He considered that for a second, scratched his head. “Or, eh, at least help him, I guess.” he amended, reluctantly.

Yondu’s head shot up at that. After a painful moment, Quill raised his own head again, barely able to hold it upright.

“No…” he whispered, blood dripping from over one eye and down onto the floor. His voice broke a little, and he was having trouble forming the words. “…n-no…please…Rocket, don’t…please, trust me—don’ tell him—“

Yondu looked back at his prisoner and snorted. “Heh. Who’d trust you, Quill.”

Rocket roared and punched at the screen. “ _I_ do, _jackass_! And I’m tellin you I might be able ta get you outta the dast field! SO STOP FILLING HIM FULLA HOLES AND LISTEN!!”

Yondu lowered his hand, and Peter sagged in his guards’ grip. It looked like he wanted to say something else, but no sound made it out of his throat. Besides, Rocket couldn’t look at him anymore.

Yondu smiled invitingly at him. “I’m listenin.”

Reluctantly, haltingly, Rocket walked him through the process to take down the field. It’d been a possible part of the plan, he reminded himself. Yes, they’d wanted to capture Yondu and the Ravagers if at all possible. No, this wasn’t the best scenario. Leaving the crazy and vengeful Ravager out in the galaxy to come back and try and kill you another day was not a great plan. But they had saved Nova Prime. And having one of your friends get slowly shredded by shrapnel—from the inside out, no less—was not how this day was going to go.

Besides.

Gammy and Drax—and Groot—were already in the Ravager ship, slowly but steadily working to find Quill’s location.

All he had to do was buy them time.

And if the Ravager ship did warp off into space before they retrieved their friend, he was ready. He was wearin his spacesuit. He had his guns. He could jump outta the shuttle and sneak through the airlock Drax and Gammy had used. Once they were all inside and had Quill safe and sound with them, they’d just steal a Ravager shuttle and get Petey back to the Nova Corps that way.

And then Denarrian Day and his guys could hunt Yondu down. And use the krutakin Ravager ship as freakin target practice.

Admittedly, their plan did have a few holes in it. Like the utter lack of support until they re-established contact with the Nova Corps. Or the lack of medical attention Peter could get until then.

And true, once the stasis field went down, Rocket would have to somehow get into the Ravager ship and do it fast. Because he’d only have a couple of seconds before his shuttle peeled off the bigger ship like a leaf in the wind. True, if he wasn’t fast enough, or worked the seals wrong, or if their ship warped before he’d gotten fully inside, he’d be crushed flat by gravitational forces. Or lose his grip and get sucked out into space. Or get lost mid-jump and end up starving or dehydrating to death.

He’d be dead.

But.

If he didn’t give Yondu the information now, Petey was gonna die. Regardless of that real high bounty on his “live” head. Something was definitely wrong with the Ravager captain, and Rocket didn’t like how his eyes were now starin straight ahead without seeing anythin. Rocket knew what crazy looked like, and if Yondu wasn’t completely nuts, he was definitely a few bullets sort of a full clip. At this point, Rocket wouldn’ta put it past him to just cut Peter’s throat if Rocket so much looked at him funny. Or if Peter sneezed wrong. In a word, the situation was tense. Which was why Rocket had, finally, cracked and given the necessary code and instructions.

Also. He couldn’t stand to hear Peter scream like that anymore.

“—and that’s it.” he finished, dully. He chanced a look at the screens again and wished he hadn’t. Peter looked awful, hanging there between the two Ravagers. As the green light of the statis field flickered out of existence, Peter briefly raised his head and looked up at the screen again. Rocket was suddenly terrified that his friend was going to cry. But Yondu was smiling. Of course.

“—thank ya kindly.” he said. “Now—“

He was cut off by Peter. Who, go figure, was trying to reactive the dast thing again. Using his “sonic programming”, which was fancy Peter speak for “voice activated”. The stasis field had to be activated from his own personal voiceprint, sure, but still—

—dammit, Peter—

—why do you have to take this hero thing so seriously—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	9. Unpleasant Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter a particularly ugly Ravager and a particularly unpleasant surprise. Oops, did I forget to tag for a major character death? Whoooops.

Rocket felt his heart sink as Peter refused to give in without a fight.

  
“Stoppit, man.” Rocket said, and hated himself for saying it. “They know how to take it down, now, you’re only makin things worse—dude, Petey, stop—“

“—ctivate statis protocol,” his friend gasped, refusing to look at him, still struggling against the heavy hands on his shoulders. His voice was cracking, wasn’t loud enough, the device Peter’d hidden on the ship wasn’t receiving his signal, the field wasn’t coming back online—

—Peter was risking himself for nothing—

Rocket felt the fabric of the chair beneath his claws rip and tear.

“Petey, stop, you’ll only make things—dammit, no, no, no, NO—STOPPIT!—“

“—activ—uh, activate—“

Yondu drew himself up to his full height, red eyes burning like twin suns in the dark. “Boyo,” he said, voice utterly quiet, “So help me Celestials, I took that shrapnel outta your chest and I can put it right back in.”

Peter gulped, once, hard, then ignored him. Yondu frowned down, expression stark and hard. It looked like he was going to kill Peter. Hell, he probably was. But then

Yondu staggered, dropped to one knee, put a hand to his head as if an axe had buried itself up to the eye in his skull.

Rocket cocked his own head, studying the situation.

There was no axe in Yondu’s head. Or throwing knife. Or tiny angry tree.

Which meant Yondu hadn’t been attacked by the Guardians yet. So why was he…huh. That hadn’t been part of the plan.

Kraglin was running over, now, helping Yondu to his feet, moving him off to the side, away, out of Rocket’s line of vision. Peter’s still tryin to reactivate the stupid stasis field, still trying to get his arms free, just, stoppit, pal, leave it alone, it’s okay—the important thing is that you’re okay—

—just stay okay until we can get you outta there—

A big, scarred Ravager now stomped his way forward. Rocket squinted, snarled as he recognized him. Taserface. What a stupid name. The one who’d needed help to break Pete’s arm. Jackass.

Taserface knelt down in front of Peter and the two Ravagers still holding him up. Taserface was big. Real big. The floor didn’t exactly shake when his knee hit it, but it did seem to rattle some. The big guy looked round, snatched up the harness thing from where it was layin on the floor. He reached out, grabbed Peter’s jaw in one hairy hand, twisted it towards him, and then forced the mask back on. Peter saw it coming and snarled, tried to get free, to fight as hard as he could in the circumstances. Which, by this point, wasn’t much. For his part, Taserface merely laughed at his efforts and continued. Rocket’s stomach curled in on itself. He felt sick.

Then the bit was shoved into place, the thick straps tightened, and the padlock roughly fastened. Rocket sincerely hoped that was the end of that. For Peter’s sake, if nothing else. But Taserface didn’t release his friend right away. Instead, he studied him closely, for what seemed an eternity longer. He’d raised Peter so that they were eye to eye now, his thick fingers digging into Peter’s neck and almost crushing his windpipe. After what seemed like forever, Peter stopped struggling—out of a lack of air, it looked like—and hung loosely from the big lug’s grip, his pained, ragged breathing buzzing though the transmission.

Rocket sniffed, then cleared his own throat obnoxiously. If Quill couldn’t be a distracting pain in the ass at the moment, Rocket was happy to take over for him.

“Hey, jackass.” he snarled. Taserface glanced over his shoulder, then went back to inspecting Peter. He seemed puzzled, somehow, looking intently for something that apparently wasn’t there. The intervals between Peter’s breaths were gettin longer, now. That couldn’t be good.

Rocket cleared his throat again and added a snort for good measure. “Excuuuuuuse me for interruptin, but I believe we had a deal. Specifically, now’s the part where ya give my buddy back. Before you regret the fact that your parents ever made it past puberty.”

Taserface ignored him. He finished looking Peter up and down, then snorted. “Don’ see whas’ so special ‘bout him.” he said flatly. He released Peter with a disdainful flick of his thick wrist and turned away.

“Al’ righ.” he said, making a circling motion with one big finger. “Let’s do thiz.”  
The other Ravagers in the group—all except Kraglin and Yondu—surged forward, surrounded Peter, started dragging him away. Rocket jumped towards the screen, ears flat, howling in indignation.

“Hey!” he roared. “Hey, hey, HEY! It’s over, it’s done, let him go now! That was the deal!”

Taserface sneered, turned, took a few thudding steps towards the screens.

“Oh, yeah.” he grated. “I forgot.” He turned his face slightly to the side, spoke to someone Rocket couldn’t see in a voice too low for Rocket to hear.

But Peter could. Rocket saw his friend stiffen as he heard Taserface’s order. Beaten to hell as he was, his head snapped back up nonetheless. His panicked stare shot straight across and up at Rocket, eyes wide, bruises dark against the white skin, pure fear in every line of his face—

—he was screaming something, or tryin to, but his voice wasn’t there, he couldn’t say anything—

—oh, gods, he was screaming something though, that was for sure—

—uh—

—uh—

—Quill’d _never_ looked that _scared_ before—

—ohcrapohcrapohcrap—

Taserface was waving mockingly with one hand. “Buh-bye, losers.” he crooned.

The proximity alert on the shuttle screamed. As if in a bad dream, Rocket turned, slowly, and dimly noted the enormous missiles approaching his outward facing viewscreens.

  
Then the shuttle Rocket was standing in exploded in a blaze of scarlet fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	10. Lost Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Taserface is a jackass (surprise surprise) and Kraglin makes a worrisome discovery.

Back on the Ravager ship, Taserface smiled thinly as he watched the “Star-Lord” ’s reaction to the destruction of his friends.

  
The kid’d kept fighting and screaming even after the screens had gone dark. Even after he’d seen the missiles hit. Even as the shockwaves rippled out through space, leaving behind glowing cinders where the little shuttle had been. Even then, he hadn’t stopped. Not until the gathering speed of the warping Ravager ship forced the curling metal shards out and away, spinning the pieces past their viewscreens, pulling them back into the dark violet void of space.

As the last remains of the shuttle—and what must have been his friends—floated past him, the kid just…sort of…stopped. Not just fighting, not just making what sounds he could, but actually stopped moving all together. It was like some sorta switch had been pulled. Turned him inta stone.

The kid didn’t blink. Didn’t even try and say anythin. Just stayed there, frozen, staring out at the slowly drifting pieces. He didn’t react to the orders to warp, or make any sign of understanding as the surrounding Nova Corps ships blurred and faded out of existence, leaving any allies he’d ever had far behind him.

He didn’t seem to see anything going on around him. His eyes were blank, his face expressionless. Huh. Well, at least he wasn’t fighting anymore.

Taserface finished giving the necessary commands, then went back and stood over the shell-shocked figure. He waited a few seconds more, until the brilliant colors from the explosion and the jump had burst and faded away, and even the pixelmated trails had died from the screens. Then a single planet materialized off to the side, the gravitational field already drawing them into a slow, spinning orbit around the teal-colored world.

“Lez’ go.” he said roughly, kicking at the still-kneeling form with one big hob-nailed boot. “Bring ‘im to the shuttles. We got a bounty ta collect.” Tetch and the other

Ravager holding Quill’s arms smiled, turned, started to drag the prisoner and follow Taserface towards the shuttle bay.

“Hey!”

Taserface snarled to himself and turned round, glaring at the thin-faced man who came marching up to him. Kraglin planted his feet, one hand on the end of his laser pistol, staring narrowly up into Taserface’s eyes.

“Why ‘r you givin the orders round here all of a sudden?” he demanded suspiciously. “The cap’n ’s in sickbay. An’ I’m his second-in-command. Not you.”  
Taserface allowed himself a small, small smile then. He towered over the smaller man and rumbled ominously.

“Oh? What’re you sayin?”

Kraglin didn’t blink as he looked up at him. The guy wasn’t Yondu’s second-in-command for nothing. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously soft. “I’m sayin you’ve always had it in for the kid, ever since he came aboard this vessel. I’m sayin you’ve always wanted ta be captain, but never had the nerve to try for yer own ship. And I think it’s remarkable how things are startin to line up for ya all of a sudden.” He narrowly studied Taserface’s face. “And I think there’s more goin on here than it looks like. And you know a lot more than you’re sayin.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Somethin happened a few rotations ago, back when you went on tha’ scouting trip. I’ll betchu landed on that middl-a-nowhere planet. Ego, right?” He jerked his head over at the teal-colored planet, and then at Quill. “An’ that bounty on the kid’s head. I saw the screens. It’s from a guy here. Name of Jason.” He frowned. “It’z where we were sup’osed to originally dump the kid. But we never did. Yondu said the guy was a jackass. But now, today o’ all days, when the captain ain’t at all himself, we’re here. And you get ta kick the stuffin outta Quill, an’ get him offa your hands.” His eyes were flat. “What’re you tryin to pull?”

Taserface grinned, eyes ugly and small in his big, scarred face. “You’ve no idea, mate. I’m in charge of this ship now. And not you, not the cap’n, not some guardians, hell, not the whole godsdamn galaxy can stop me and my mates from doin just how we choose.”

Kraglin grinned back, his own eyes hard as flint. And held up a fist, barking a sharp order.

No one followed it.

No one on the bridge paid the slightest heed to Kraglin’s shout. Well, maybe one. Quill. In a dead-eyed, bleak, look-back-over-the-shoulder kind of way as he was getting dragged off. But the boy had no reason, or even any ability, to help Kraglin now. No matter how many times Kraglin’d helped him or covered for him in the past.

Oooh, Taserface was enjoying this. He smirked down at Kraglin as more of his cronies appeared out of the shadows. They snatched his weapon away, grabbed Yondu’s second in command by the arms, and forced him down onto his knees. Kraglin swore and struggled, but they outnumbered him six to one. Kraglin glared up at Taserface.

“How the—how the hell do you think you’ll get away with this?” he demanded. “You’ve been on Yondu’s crew, you know how he is—he’ll—“

“Yondu Udonta,” Taserface interrupted, sneering the name, “isn’t going to do anything. Ever again.”

Kraglin’s rough face furrowed in genuine dismay at that. Taserface almost laughed. Loyalty among thieves. Such a rare trait. And so easily snuffed out. He leaned forwards, his face almost touching Kraglin’s.

“Ya see, that planet is just full’a surprises.”

Kraglin frowned. “Ego? Is that where that Jason guy wants ‘im? Wants Quill? What’s your client even want with the kid? How’s that gonna help you against the cap’n?”

Taserface just smiled and shrugged. Then he nodded to his men, who started dragging Kraglin away. “You’ll see soon enough.” he called after the kicking and struggling figure. “You’ll see. We might take ya’ll planetside once this business with Quill is over. You and the rest of Yondu’s boys.”

He watched Kraglin and his escort disappear around the corner. A few ticks later, Tetch rounded the same one, coming up to him and saluting swiftly. “Quill’s in the shuttle, sir. We’re ready to launch for the planet’s surface when you are.”

Taserface nodded slowly, eyes still following Kraglin. “What about the rest of the loyalists?”

Tetch’s teeth showed in a gleeful smile. “Still gettin’ rounded up, sir. Some are fightin’ back, but it shouldn’t take too long. We outnumber ‘em two to one. Most of ‘em are in the cargo bays now.” He twitched a little. “Can we eject them now, sir?”

Taserface considered this for a moment. Then, regretfully, shook his head. “Not now, Tetch.” He held up a hand, forestalling any protest. “I know I said we could, but not yet.” His own eyes glittered. “I think we migh’ do some pretty profitable tradin’ with this here Jason on Ego. He’s inta the energy trade somethin’ fierce. And if he needs workers or miners or the like…” he shrugged eloquently. “It’d be a shame to waste such an easy resource.”  
His teeth glinted in a sudden smile. “Besides, like you said, we outnumber ‘em two to one. Me and my team’ll pop down to the planet and deliver Quill to this Jason guy. I’ll ask ‘im about any other business transactions he might need too. After that…” he grinned, looking out at the cold, unforgiving reaches of space just outside the viewscreens. “We’ll see.”

Meanwhile, in the nearest cargo bay, Kraglin found himself unceremoniously dumped onto the cold and dirty floor. And on top of at least ten or so similarly indignant Ravagers. Sputtering and flailing around, Kraglin managed to claw his way out of the pile and onto the top of a cold, but mostly stable, crate. Turning round to get his bearings, he found himself almost nose to nose with his longtime friend and captain. Who was staring dully around him, as if unsure of where he was.  
Kraglin huffed out an indignant breath through his nose, all his recent uneasy doubts and dark forebodings about his captain shuffling to the side.  
That Taserface was an idiot. Throwing Yondu Udonta around like the stuffed hackeesac Quill’d used to play with, back when he was a kid on the ship. Kraglin wasn’t a bettin man (straightforward armed robbery was more his style), but he’d place heavy odds that in less than half a day, Taserface would be regretting the day his momma and daddy ever laid eyes on each other.

Yondu’s eyes fell on him and regarded him blankly. Kraglin felt his utter confidence in his captain wobble, just a little. Mebbe Taserface had hit the cap’n hard on the head. It woulda explained what he’d done to Peter, for one. Kraglin cleared his throat.

“Uh…Cap’n?”  
Yondu raised an eyebrow at that, rubbing at one eye with a tired hand. “Kraglin.” he said, slowly. Then, his voice gaining some of its old fire back, “Why in the hell am I in a cargo hold on my own damn ship?”

Kraglin swallowed. He probably wasn’t gonna get in trouble for breaking the news to Yondu.

Probably.

“Uh….” he tried. “Uh, well, Taserface and a couplea’ the others seem to be engagin in mutiny, cap’n.”  
Yondu’s eyes flashed. “Are they now.” he drawled. Kraglin fought back a sudden grin. Oh, yeah. Taserface was in for it now. He eagerly waited for a blazingly brilliant plan that would tilt the tables back in their favor. But Yondu was still staring off into space, frowning as if something puzzled or troubled him greatly.

“How’s Quill doin?” he asked suddenly. Kraglin stared at him slack-jawed, unsure of what to say.

“Ah….how do you think he’s doin.” he said woodenly. From Yondu’s other side, a different Ravager caught Kraglin’s gaze. It caught his imploring look and shrugged, once, as if to say, nope, sorry buddy, you’re on your own for this one. Then it hastily turned away before Yondu could catch its gaze. Kraglin squinched one eye shut and chanced another look back at his captain.

Who was looking murderous.

“Well, how the hell should I know how he’s doin.” Yondu said crankily. “Dast kid doesn’t call anymore since he went and saved the galaxy.”

Kraglin stared at that, then, hesitantly, opened his mouth to speak. Yondu irritably waved him off, continuing on in a grumbling rant. “—yeah, an’ I know I tol’ him I’d kill him if he backstabbed us wit’ that Infinity Stone again, but come on, Kraglin, switchin that stone for that doll—you gotta admit, that took some serious guts—”

Kraglin found it hard to join in his captain’s geniune laughter. But he tried. As did the other Ravagers crammed into the small cargo bay.  
“—heheheh…ahhhhhhhh….soooooooooo you’re not mad at him for it, cap’n?” Kraglin tried.

Yondu shrugged. “Nah, that stunt we pulled for the Xandarians upped our rep across the galaxy. Hell, people are actually payin us to take borderline reputable jobs now. Which means we may just actually get paid our full price one of these days, ‘stead a’ havin to watch our backs so we don’t get nabbed by the Nova Corps, or knifed in our sleep, or get set up for an ambush by one o’ the bigger gangs…so naw, I can’t say as if I’d kill the kid. If or when I’d see him again. Seems it would be mostly ungrateful, for putting such a nice piece of business in our way.”

“So you wouldn’t, uh, beat the tar outta him, cap’n?”

Yondu looked indignant. “ ‘Course not. Most likely not.” He paused. “Probab’ not.”

Kraglin knew his captain well enough to know that meant “Never in a thousand cycles.”

Kraglin gnawed his lower lip and tried to muster his words again, feeling a very unpleasant sensation of rare guilt roil around in his belly. It’d been there for awhile.

Ever since Yondu’d thrown Quill to Taserface and his friends, actually.

Sixty to one had been terrible odds.

Kraglin had been tryin to convince himself that sixty to two wouldn’t have been much better. And since Yondu’d always been fond of the kid, Kraglin had never dreamed he woulda let the beating get that wildly out of hand. And by the time Kraglin had realized something was way wrong, it was too late. He couldn’t have gotten to Quill if he’d tried.

He wished he had, though. He’d always been fond of the kid. And seein him hurt like that had, for some strange and inexplicable reason, hurt him as well. Not that he knew how to say it.

And now he didn’t know what to say here. But he made the attempt nonetheless. “Cap’n, Quill—Quill—well, ya see, Quill’s, uhhhh—“

Yondu cut him off again, his mind clearly following an entirely different line of conversation.

“—and all I’m sayin, is, I don’t think it’s that hard to see,” Yondu said peevishly, “that the boy should know bettah than ta think we’d ever actually eat ‘im. That’s all I’m sayin.”

Kraglin gulped, feeling his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his thin throat. The Ravager on Yondu’s other side watched him silently, a strange mix of pained empathy and bleak premonition showing briefly in its dark, faceted eyes.

Yondu saw the expression on Kraglin’s face. He stopped talkin suddenly.

“Kraglin.” he said slowly. “Where is Quill?”

Kraglin swallowed, opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then shut it with a snap. Instead of answering, he pointed past Yondu’s shoulder and through the thick safety glass of the cargo bay.

Through it, you could faintly see the shuttles.

And you could see who was getting into the shuttles.

Or, more importantly, who was getting dragged into one.

The other Ravagers trapped in the cargo bay looked out as well. As they did, Kraglin noticed that the Ravagers crowding into the shuttle with Taserface and Quill were about half the ones who’d beaten the kid to a pulp in the control room.

Come to think of it, none of the guys in this here cargo bay—‘cept Yondu, and himself, of course—had been at that little fracas. They’d been in other parts of the ship.

Attendin to other duties, sleeping, drinking, or a mix of all three.

None of em had been on the bridge. None of ‘em helped beat Quill up.

Come to think of it, none of them really woulda wanted to. Quill had been an annoying pain in the ass for years, but this part of the crew could still (more or less fondly) remember him as the scruffy, scared kid who’d been crying for his ma the first time they’d seen him. And then seen that scared, crying kid try and straight up bite the captain the first time he saw him.

The kid had had spunk, and they’d grown to like him for it.

Which meant…

That it’d been really bad luck on Quill’s part, to have his worst enemies happen to be the group that greeted him. And that half of em were now takin the shuttle down with him. Real bad luck.

Or…

Or something, really, really weird, was goin on here. Somebody was pullin strings and arranging things around here with the intent to hurt Quill, to push him into a corner, and if it wasn’t the captain, who could it—

Yondu had turned, followed Kraglin’s pointing finger with his eyes. He’d gone silent, watching a beaten and bloody Quill get dragged unceremoniously into the nearest shuttle. The Ravager captain tensed. Then was silent, frozen, studying the scene unfolding before him. When he spoke next, he still hadn’t turned back towards Kraglin. But his voice was icy with rage.

“What the hell is goin on in my ship?”

Kraglin swallowed hard again. He wished he had an answer. But all he could do was ask a question himself. And pray that Yondu didn’t decapitate him for his trouble.

“…don’t you remember, Cap’n? You…uh, you ordered it. After we tried to assassinate Nova Prime, you took Quill hostage to git off her ship, an’ you heard about the bounty on his head and you—we—”

Kraglin flailed about with his pronouns, unsure which one would piss Yondu off more—

“—uh, you—brought him back here, and ordered that group there ta—uh—well, rough him up ta make a point, and—“

“THE HELL I DID!” barked Yondu, and Kraglin was suddenly very very very very very glad Taserface’s goons had thought to break his captain’s arrow prototypes. If only because it meant he would probably survive the next three seconds. Yondu’d slammed one palm hard onto the crate they were sitting on, dislodging the apprehensive Ravager sitting on his other side. The unfortunate crewmember squawked and flailed away from the two of them, losing its balance and falling back into the mess of Ravagers on the floor. But given that Yondu was lookin for something to pound—and that something was probably going to be Kraglin—Kraglin felt a sudden empathetic understanding for his fellow crewmember. And heartily wished he had the same anonymity.

“The hell I did!” Yondu repeated, collaring his lieutenant, his fist drawn back, eyes burning like twin suns. “What the hell is wrong witchu, Kraglin?”

“Agh, agh, I, uh—cap’n! Cap’n! What’s the last thing you remember?!” Kraglin squawked. Yondu blinked, slowly loosened his grip on Kraglin’s collar. Lowered his fist and instead rubbed hard at his head, his eyes furrowed in pain and concentration.

“We was sendin’ out patrols this morning.” he said after a moment. “On the Outer Rim. Needed to survey the asteroid fields.” He blinked, looked round. “But how we went from makin maps this mornin to a mutiny with us crammed in a cargo hold beats me.”

He looked up, saw the expression on Kraglin’s face. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Cap’n.” Kraglin said quietly. “We finished that survey a week ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	11. Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Guardians make (another) plan. Hopefully this one works...

Meanwhile, somewhere deep in the guts of the Ravager ship, Rocket was sorely regretting his decision to stay behind and operate the holograms.

  
He’d barely got his dast tail outta the shuttle before it blew into smithereens, and hadn’t managed to seal the hull behind him before the explosion’s heat bloom singed half his whiskers off and scorched the tip of his tail.

Which hurt, dast it.

And the dast heat bloom had cooked his comms, which meant he coudn’t find his gorram friends. Not instantly, anyway. So he had to go on a scratin’ treasure hunt, makin his way to each and every dast engine room on this dast ship. To add insult to injury, the ship had warped right after he’d leapt from one balcony for another. The resulting shift in the railings had meant he’d barely managed to complete his jump.

And he still hadn’t found any of the other Guardians.

Or Quill.

And he couldn’t even take out his pain and frustration on the first Ravager he saw, because his guns were too loud and would immediately draw unwanted attention to himself.

So he had to jump onta the krutaker’s head from above and then kick him into unconsciousness instead. Which was not nearly as satisfying.

Hmph. Even kicking him in the head four or five times wasn’t—

“—ket.” He heard Gamorra’s voice whisper. “Over here.” Rocket’s ears perked and he scampered up and over to the shadowed space between two giant engines. Gamorra’s magenta-tinted hair gleamed in the dim light from the moving turbines, and the tips of Drax’s knives glowed with a dull fire all their own. Still perched on Gamorra’s shoulder, Groot squeaked in delight as Rocket came near, and waved impatient little hands at him. “—Iam Groot!” he said, glee and frustration mixed in his voice. Rocket nodded, cocking his gun. “Yeah, buddy, I’m glad to see you too.” He looked round at his friends. “We still haven’t found Quill?” he asked, feeling the hollow pit in his stomach deepen.

Groot shook his head emphatically. “—am Groot.”

Rocket shrugged dispiritedly. “Yeah, but, we’ve had all this time—who knows what they’re doin ta him now—“

Beside them, the engines’ hum slowed, stopped. Gamorra frowned. “They said there was a bounty on Quill’s head. Do you think we reached the drop off point?”  
Rocket felt his anxiety spike along with his eartips. “We gotta find him afore that!” he said. “Or at least figgure out a way to track him! Else who knows where the krutak he’ll be!”

Groot shuddered, his eyes widening. “Iamgroot.” he whispered.

Drax shook his head emphatically. “Fear not, miniature tree. We will not lose our comrade. I swear it on my honor.”  
Rocket sniffed. “Thanks, Drax,” he said, a little snidely, “but yer honor isn’t gonna help us track Quill down. Unless your intangible honor can overcome the dast energy still futzin with my scans.”

He stopped, struck by a sudden idea. “Wait, wait, waitwaitwait.” he said, eyes widening. “The energy scan’s only affectin the tech for biological signatures!” He plunged a paw into a compartment on this belt, dragged out some pieces and started tinkering with them.

Gamorra’s eyes widened in realization. “So you’ll scan for something else. Something non-organic.”

Rocket’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “An’ just what does Quill alllwwaaaays have on ‘im?”

Groot danced another little happy dance, fiercely punching at the air. Drax’s own smile was almost savage.

“The obnoxiously loud box. His mother’s last gift.” he said slowly. “Fitting, that it should aid us in saving his life.”

“Yeah, yeah, appreciate the sentimentality later.” Rocket grumbled. He grinned fiercely as his scanner blazed back into life, a faint, blinking light moving slowly around his screen. “Found him!” he crowed.

“Where is he?” Gamorra cried. Rocket frowned at the results. “Well, he’s outside the ship for some reason…and entering the planet’s atmosphere….so…..he’s either miraculously recovered enough to break free on his own and modified his rocketboots to go at five hundred miles an hour, or…”

“Shuttles.” Gamorra and Drax said instantly. Drax started sprinting forward, the rest of them leaping to catch up. “Make haste!” he cried. “I recall the location of the bay in this ship from our last encounter with these pirates. Let us steal one now and go to retrieve our friend!”

“Shouldn’t we get a fighter?” Rocket asked.

“Iamgroot.” Groot proclaimed, still clutching at Gamorra’s neck the way a sailor clings to his ship’s mast during a storm.

Rocket grunted reluctantly. “Good point, bud. Don’t know the location and don’t got the time. Sides, with them only takin a shuttle, the only place they could be goin’ is to the planet.”

Gamorra’s mouth thinned into an angry little line. “Then let’s follow them. And get Peter back.”

In another moment, the guardians of the galaxy had disappeared into the shadows of the Ravager ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the major character death fake-out last chapter. *ridiculously huge wink* Agh, dammit, I'm using my left eye again, ain't I?
> 
> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	12. Did Not See That Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter meets his father for the first time, and Taserface begins to rue some major life decisions.

Taserface had decided that he did not like this planet.

  
It had some nice foliage, sure. There were streams and thick forests, and even a couple of lakes the shuttle had passed over on its way here.

But there weren’t any people.

No cities visible from orbit, no remote homesteads as they flew over the countryside, hell, not even any animals.

It was a very quiet planet.

Too quiet.

Taserface grunted to himself, looked back over his shoulder to check on the kid who was worth five billion units (alive) and none (if dead). The kid in question didn’t look to be in terrific shape. Not that anyone would look to be in great shape after getting well and truly trounced by a few dozen angry Ravagers, but still, at least he was breathin. Mostly. Besides, “alive” didn’t mean “undamaged”. Not in the circles Taserface ran in, anyway.

At least the kid wasn’t being a pain. That was all Taserface cared about at the moment. He was still lyin on the ground where Taserface had dropped him a few minutes before. The scarred Ravager yawned, scratched his neck, rechecked the coordinates on his screen. This was taking too long.

A shuffling sound made him look swiftly around. The kid had, against all odds, slowly rolled to one side. Then, steadily, painfully, started to drag one leg under him.

He was getting up. At least, back up to his knees.

Taserface watched, amused. It took some doin, what with his hands still tied behind his back and one shoulder and leg bein busted, but the kid did it. Then he raised his head, and looked Taserface straight in the eyes. And just kept lookin at him.

Taserface sneered. “Got somethin ta say, Star-Wuss?” he asked, jeeringly.

The kid’s eyes were hard and cold as ice over the mask. He nodded, once.  
Taserface felt something inside his gut shake a little. Not that it had any reason to. He snorted, deliberately turned away again. Triple-checked the coordinates. Gods this guy was taking forever. He turned around again.

The damn kid was still starin at him.

Taserface cursed. “Stop lookin at me.” he growled. When that didn’t work, he bent back and kicked the kid hard in the stomach. The kid grunted, curled in over the blow. Stayed hunched over for half a minute. Then straightened up. And kept starin at him.

“What?!” Taserface demanded. “Whadda wanna say?!” The big Ravager blinked, realizing just how stupid he sounded. Swearing to himself, he reached out and roughly unlocked the mask. He wasn’t as careful removing it as Yondu had been, but he was a lot quicker.

“Well?” he demanded, not entirely sure why this was so important. The kid was probably going to blather on about some random story that a rock had reminded him of, or ask a thousand different questions, none of which were actually important, and really Taserface just shoulda left the damn muzzle—

“I’m going to kill you.”

The words were quiet, measured. But the cold, hard fury in them cut straight to what was left of Taserface’s soul.  
Not that he let it show. He covered up his momentary pause with a forced laugh. “Heh, yeah, sure kid.” he said, through a slightly too hearty guffaw. “You and what army?”

The hard blue eyes never left his face. The response was flat, even.

“Just me.”

Taserface snorted. “There’s a crew a’ Ravagers in that shuttle above us who wouldn’t take kindly to that, kid. Whatchu gonna do about them, huh?”

The kid looked up. Considered. Then looked back at Taserface.

“Kill them too.”

Taserface snorted. There was no reason he should believe him. Or be coming up with plans on what to do should the kid try anything.

“How’re you gonna do it, kid?” he mocked. “Got any bright ideas?”

The kid smiled at that. If the thin, harsh expression twisting his mouth could be called a smile. “I’ll think of something.” Something jagged and painful flickered far back in his eyes, then was gone again. “Even just with twelve percent of a plan…” he mused. “…yeah. I could work with that.”

Taserface tore his eyes away from that look, fought back a swallow, and pressed the transmission button again. A couple more times. Very quickly. He willed it to work, willed his contact to show up, wanted just to get paid so he could leave. He wanted to get off this silent planet. He wanted to get into the shuttle and away from that kid. And then he wanted to run, run to the other side of the galaxy and pray that he never saw those eyes again.

Krutak, that kid’d held a frickin Infinity Stone and hadn’t died.

What the hell had Taserface been thinking, taking this job from some stupid nobody Jason guy?

He shook himself, coughed. This was stupid. There was no need to worry. All he had to do was wait until—

There.

Striding over the silent fields. A straight-backed figure, shadowed against the blazing suns. Taserface fought back a sigh of relief and walked forward to meet him.

The man was tall, white-haired, and had piercing blue eyes.

“Is that him?” the man asked bluntly, moving straight past Taserface and heading straight for the kid. Once he reached him, he frowned. Bent down, studying him more closely. He looked disapprovingly up at Taserface for an instant. “He’s pretty banged up, don’t you think?”

Taserface spluttered indignantly. “You said you didn’t mind how beat up he got, as long as he was aliv—“

His client gave an impatient shake of his head and went back to studying the kid.

The kid leaned back a little, returning Jason’s stare and frowning himself. “What the hell are you looking at?” he demanded.

The man’s mouth quirked. “Peter Quill?” he asked. The boy glared up at him. “Who’s asking.” he said suspiciously. The man smiled.

“Jason.”

“Okay…Jason who?”

“Just Jason.”

“Okay. So…who are you, then?”

Jason sighed, looking slightly perplexed. “Well, there’s no easy way to tell you this, Peter. I’m your father.”

The boy’s mouth dropped open. “Wha—“

The man gestured to the world around them. “Well, technically, I’m this planet. I built this form—“ he gestured to himself “—as a sort of vehicle to travel the galaxy. Easier for part of me to travel then the entire world, you see. Granted, I have to come back here frequently so I don’t fade, but, to all intents and purposes…”

The boy looked almost as confused as Taserface felt. But less indignant, because Taserface still hadn’t been paid. And that was the uppermost concern in the Ravager’s mind now.

“Hey.” he said roughly. Neither of the other two men paid the least attention to him.

“HEY.” he barked. “I brought him to ya. So where’s my money?”

Quill flicked him a nasty glance. The older man didn’t even look at him.

This time, Taserface didn’t bother with yelling. He just took out his energy pistol and aimed it at Quill’s head. Pulled back the trigger as the two of them turned to face him again.

“I’m tired,” Taserface gritted out, “of bein ignored here. Why aren’t you even lookin at me?”

The kid opened his mouth to speak, probably to give some sort of smart-ass reply, but the other man struck in.

“Simple.’ he said with an easy, polite smile. “Because you do not matter.” Then the man who’d introduced himself the first time as Jason—and not as a planet—held out an open hand. And clenched it into a fist, hard.

In that instant, Taserface realized he hadn’t really thought this through. Or done his research the way Udonta always did. Looking back, that would have been a good option.

As things turned out, that was the last thing Taserface ever thought.

Because when Jason’s hand finished closing, the earth opened and swallowed Taserface whole.

His crew, up in the shuttle, saw this happen. The speakers on the shuttle buzzed with static, then with fragmented threats towards the two figures remaining on the ground. The shuttle’s small guns pumped, priming to fire.

Jason looked up in annoyance and waved a hand through the air. Blazing blue tendrils of light shot out of the planet’s surface and wrapped themselves around the shuttle, yanking it down and dragging it into the ground faster than the eye could see.

Jason snorted and turned round. The kid called Peter was staring wide-eyed, first at him, then at where the ship and the Ravagers had been, then back at him. His jaw had dropped open, and he looked like he’d been hit over the head with a wrench.

Although, given how he looked…maybe that had happened too.

Jason narrowed his eyes and studied his son. Meredith’s boy. It’d taken him years to find him, after Yondu Udonta had spirited him away.

The blue-skinned Ravager must have figured out what happened to the other children he’d brought him. Jason considered that for a moment, shrugged, and dismissed him out of hand. In his instructions to Taserface, he’d made it very clear that Yondu and his loyalists were not to survive the takeover. The deserted Ravager spaceship could float through space forever for all he cared. The important thing was that he’d found Peter.

Peter Quill. The man who’d held an Infinity Stone without dying. Who wore Ravager garb despite being pardoned by the Nova Corps and—until this morning—had taken to bouncing around the galaxy with another group of misfits hell bent on guarding every star system in it. Or making a good profit. Or both.

It wasn’t exactly clear.

The boy was still staring at him, dumbstruck. Come to think of it, he didn’t look that good. Probably most, if not all of his lack of energy was due to his awful condition. Well. Jason had been expecting something of the kind.

Jason nodded slowly to himself. The order had been regrettable, but necessary. He’d said as much to the late Taserface, back when they’d struck their deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	13. Part Of The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Taserface may have been a jackass, but Jason-Ego is, unequivocally, 100% a...eh, fill in the blank.

“—need him alive.” Jason had stressed. “So long as he’s breathing, that is acceptable. What is unacceptable is if he is dead. Do you understand me?”

  
Taserface had needed to pause and think about this for a second. Then, baring his ugly fangs in a smile, he’d growled, “Breathin. Got it.”

Jason had fought back the urge to sigh and instead rubbed one hand briefly along one temple. “Fine. Any more questions?”

Taserface thought for what seemed an interminable time. Then he grunted. “Why’d it have to be so complicated? Why can’ I just grab Quill and bring ‘im here without anyone knowin?”

Jason gritted his teeth. They’d been over this already. Twice.

“Because,” he answered, striving to sound professional, “Everyone will notice if Peter Quill suddenly and mysteriously goes missing. He’s the leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy, and Xandar’s new favorite pet. If he just vanishes off the face of the system, questions will be asked and all routes will be searched and traced. That is unacceptable.”

“Bu’ why go after Nova Prime first?” The big lug pressed. “Why her?”

Jason’s left eye had begun to twitch. “To draw them out, of course.” He stopped before he said actually said the word stupid. He took a deep breath, let it out. “The Guardians will race to save anyone in actual distress or danger, potential for profit aside. There’s a nearby star system whose suns are dying. Given the planet’s positioning and current gravitational pull, the planetary evacuation will be unusually difficult and hazardous. Nova Prime is attending the evacuation herself due to her expertise with planetary shielding. She’s there to oversee the radiation shields and buy as much time as possible for the refugees’ shuttles to escape.” Jason had smiled. “Which is where you come in. That is to say,” he corrected himself, smiling, “Yondu does.”

Taserface looked blank. Jason’s smile disappeared. He continued gamely on. “Yondu Udonta will accept the high bounty on Nova Prime’s head. He has the most efficient Ravager crew on this side of the galaxy, is the closest, and his attack is the most likely to succeed. The Nova Corps will then promptly call in the Guardians, they’ll step in to save Prime, Quill will face off with Yondu himself—“

“—how do ya know that?” Taserface asked, befuddled.

Jason glared him into silence, then continued. “—because he has delusions of heroism, of course. The little idiot grabbed an Infinity Stone on Xandar knowing it would kill him. Anyway, he’ll do what he does best—make the stupid play—and face off against Yondu, trying to save Prime. Even if he doesn’t save her in time, Xandar losing its Head of State is no bad thing. And if I can manage to get some information about the location of the Infinity Stone out of this entire situation, so much the better.” Jason’s icy blue eyes glittered. “Regardless, Yondu will find out about the higher bounty on Quill’s head and take him for himself. Any complications can be ironed out due to the Nova Corps fondness for Quill. And the Guardians won’t let anyone shoot at any ship holding their captain. Details may vary, but Yondu will be the one who—very visibly—snatches Peter and vanishes into the stars.”

He smiled at Taserface. “All you have to do is make sure it happens. Once you’re free of the Nova Corps and the Guardians, this is your chance to take over Yondu’s ship and leave him a fugitive, wanted and closely hunted by the Nova Corps and Guardians alike. I’d highly recommend you shoot him into space, but honestly, it matters not to me. The point of our bargain is to bring me the boy. Remember, I want him alive.”

Taserface scowled at this. Jason saw it and smoothly continued on. “I already told you, he doesn’t have to be in good condition when you bring him here. In fact…” his gaze flickered and his eyes grew distant. “…he shouldn’t be. Yes. Make sure he isn’t in good condition when he comes.” He shot Taserface a severe look. “But he does have to be breathing.”

Taserface chuckled at that. Then he frowned a little. “Jus’ one problem with yer plan, Jason. Yondu don’t do anythin Yondu Udonta doesn’t want. He won’t wanta go after Prime cuz he’s soft. He’ll just say no money’s worth getting the whole Nova Corps after our hides. Plus he’s soft on the kid and his crew. Won’ harm em no way, no how, not even if Thanos himself put out a bounty on their heads.” He studied Jason for a second. “So whatchu gonna do? How you gonna convince Yondu to attack Prime and kidnap Quill?” He paused, awkwardly. “Uh, kidnap Quill, again, that is….”

Jason held out a hand, smiling. Taserface looked at him, then down at his outstretched palm. A soft, glowing blue light had formed there, centered around a small, sharp glint of metal.

Jason’s smile was very slight and very thin.

“I’m not going to convince him to do anything.” he said in a completely neutral tone. “Yondu’s going to do it all by himself.” His voice changed, grew hard. “You’re sure you can plant this on him?”

Taserface nodded frantically. He was’t sure how, but he would.

Jason’s smile grew a little more genuine. “Excellent.” He let the drop of glowing blue metal fall into Taserface’s outstretched, shaking hand. He clapped him once on the shoulder, then gestured back at the shuttle Taserface had piloted to the surface. “Go on then, you still have half the asteroid field to chart before you get back to your ship. Your captain will be waiting for you.”

As Taserface turned to go, Jason’s hand tightened on his shoulder and he looked hard into the Ravager’s eyes.

“I’ll know if you try and get out of this deal.” He said quietly. “I’ll be watching. And listening.”

Taserface nodded frantically. Once again, part of him wished he’d never accepted that sudden and mysterious message that had popped up on his pod screen. It’d promised him billions of units…just if he deviated from the charting mission…annnd came down to this fritzing weird planet that had suddenly shown up on his scans.

But Taserface was a practical soul, and harbored an envious and deep-seated hatred of both Peter Quill and Yondu Udonta to boot. Any mission that made him filthy rich and hurt them was fine in his book.

He’d left.

And Jason had kept his promise. Through the chip Taserface had implanted in Yondu’s neck, Jason had been able to direct the Ravager captain’s movements. First slowly, then rapidly gaining more and more control. By the time of the attack on Nova Prime, Jason had been calling all the shots. And had kept calling them, even though he’d felt the Ravager captain struggle against him pretty much the entire time.

It had hurt.

A lot.

Jason would never admit it, but he’d strategically retreated—a self-aware planet never fled, for pity’s sake—from the Ravager’s mind as soon as Peter’d been safely off his ship. Jason had no need to control him anymore. Besides, the damn, stubborn Ravager would be spaced soon anyway. Jason shrugged, dismissing his former employee from his thoughts, and turned his sharp blue gaze onto his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	14. Lay Your Weary Head To Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is suspicious and Jason-Ego is not as clever as he thinks. Also, Mantis appears! (Again, remember that in this story she's about 13 years old or so).

Jason looked down thoughtfully at the boy who had been so difficult to acquire, and studied his prize carefully. Average height, sandy hair, blue eyes. The boy took after his mother.

  
Oh, and he was talking. Despite being clearly half-dead with fatigue.

Definately like his mother.

“Uh…let’s go over this again.” the kid said slowly. “You’re…my dad.”

Jason decided it couldn’t hurt to humor him. The girl still had to get here anyway. “Yes.” “And you’re a…uh….a planet.”

Jason nodded. “Yes.”

The kid nodded, once, twice, then broke off into a fit of disoriented snickering. Jason watched, mouth turned down, lips pursed slightly.  
“Heheheh—a planet, a planet, is my dad,” Peter giggled. “Guh—Gamorra’s not gunna believe this…or, or Groot…but, hehehehheh, wait ’til I tell Drax and Rock—“

He stopped, suddenly. The laughter died from his face. “…oh.” he said, in a very small voice. “Oh.”

Jason quirked an eyebrow. The kid looked grey all of a sudden, eyes hollow and distant. “M-my friends.” he said, tripping a little on the words. “They…uh…they…they’re…” He swallowed, hard, then stared at the ground. He wouldn’t meet Jason’s eyes any more.

Jason tried not to look impatient. He knew perfectly well what had happened to the little brat’s crew, hell, he’d gotten Taserface to do it. The last thing the kid needed were distractions at this vital stage of the plan. Jason frowned to himself, considered what to say. The kid was clearly upset by the loss of his friends. Probably best to play this the way Meredith would have liked. He forced himself to remember how to look empathetic and dropped to one knee, putting a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I’m know the Ravagers killed them.” he said sorrowfully. “That must be terrible for you, Peter.” His son sniffed and looked up, eyes red.

“How did you?”

Jason blinked. “How did I what?”

“Know that.” Peter said, sniffing again. His eyes—uncomfortably like his mother’s, Jason uneasily noted—studied him in turn. They were clouded with pain, but the intellect behind them was still sharp, and growing sharper.

“…t—taserface didn’t say anything about…killing em…to you…an’ I didn’t…tell ya either…” he said, slurring a little. Jason cleared his throat.

“I—I can sense most of what happens just outside my atmosphere.” he lied, smoothly. ’”It’s not perfect, but I can get an idea. I felt your distress when—when—when something happened, it must have been when they blew up your friends’ ship?—and realized something must be wrong.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “My friends were killed outside of your solar system.” His somewhat fuzzy look turned into a glare. “What aren’t you…telling me?” he growled.

Jason abruptly clasped Peter’s shoulder, in what should have been a reassuring gesture. “How stupid of me.” He said, motioning back towards the handcuffs still locked tight around his son’s wrists. “Here, let me help you with these.”

But he’d grabbed hold of Peter’s bad shoulder. And squeezed it. Hard.

Whoops.

Abruptly, the kid stopped talking. What little color had been in his face left, and he sucked in a hard breath, pain driving all thought out from behind his eyes.

Again. Ooooooooooops.

Running feet behind them skidded to a stop in dirt and gravel. A thin gasp came from somewhere above their heads. Jason turned irritably around.

Finally, the girl was there, wide dark eyes staring, her green tunic blowing erratically in the thin twilight breeze. He glared at her.

“Well?” he demanded impatiently. She stammered a reply, her two small antennae waving wildly above her head as she struggled to find a response.

“I—I—what is it you wish me to do, my lord—I thought you’d—I didn’t know what—“

He gestured irritably at his sick-looking progeny before him. “Stop blabbering, Mantis. This is my son, Peter.” he snapped. “He’s injured. Help him!”

The kid looked sideways at him, eyes muddled but still wary, still distrustful. Inwardly, Jason ground his teeth. He couldn’t have him remembering any of this when he woke up next. The kid had to be absolutely willing to engage in the plan. Or at least not be suspicious from the outset.

Happily, over the millennia, Jason had found enough pain could help dull the memories of lesser species. So he gave his son an encouraging shake.

Still using the bad shoulder.

Peter’s eyes widened, then started to roll back in his head.

Oooooooooooooops.

Mantis squeaked in distress and fell to her knees beside the two of them. “I—I—I want to help him, sir, I do, but the only thing I can do is help him sleep…” Her voice wavered. Jason snorted. “Do it, then.”

Just like his mother, Peter still had to say the last word. Jason wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed or annoyed at how the kid had managed to hang on to consciousness.

“Nuh-uh.” he mumbled. “Not gunna go anywhere with…you.” He looked at Jason, laboriously turned his bleary gaze towards the girl. “Or…you. Zorry. Nuthin personal.”

Jason forced himself to plaster on a fake smile for his latest—and most troublesome—offspring.

“You’re just saying that because you’re tired.” he said, a little too brightly. “Sleep, Peter.”

“—the—the hell I—uh—unhh.”

“Sleep.” Mantis had echoed, in a far gentler voice than Jason had used. She’d stretched out her hand and, very, very carefully, placed her head on Peter’s forehead. The kid had blinked and tried moving away at the last possible second. But Jason’s firm grip on his bad shoulder had held him in place. Once Manis’s fingers had touched him, and she repeated the command, Peter had gone out like a light.

Jason stood up, let Peter fall the rest of the way to the ground. Mantis tried to catch him, and (somewhat) succeeded.

“Sire?” she said, voice wavering. “What—what now?”

Jason turned a warm smile towards her, one that mirrored the sun setting slowly behind them. He was feeling cheerful this evening. “We take him home.” he said easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	15. You've Got A Friend In Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mantis has no social skills (though not for lack of trying) and Peter is a sweetheart (and still not a moron).(Again, in this fic Mantis is about 13 years old or so.)

When the new one woke four days later, Mantis was there by his side. Watching him.

  
She had hoped he’d wake up faster, but the master had said that he was in very poor condition and it’d be stupid to expect anything to be different. Which made sense, given how horrible he had looked when she’d first seen him. And how much core energy had needed to flow into him as he slept.

At least she’d kept any nightmares from him.

She could do that.

But that was nothing. Master was much better at—well, everything. Mantis wondered how on earth master could do it all. Keep his humanoid form, keep the planet under their feet whole and existing, and, most of all, pour life back into the newest child he’d found, helping heal its wounds and keep it alive.

She’d tried asking him once, how he managed to do all that. He’d called her stupid and said she wouldn’t understand. That was probably true. But she did still wonder.

Sometimes.

Maybe the new one wouldn’t mind talking to her. Maybe he wouldn’t think she was stupid. She did like meeting new people, talking to them, making them feel welcome and wanted. Even if they didn’t stay for very long, she really did like helping them, and was sad when master took them away and they never came back.

She’d decided that part of helping them was being there for them when they woke up, so they wouldn’t be scared.

This one was, though.

When his eyes flickered open, Mantis had jumped, then leaned forward in her chair, trying her best to smile brightly at him. She’d heard that was what people liked to wake up to.

“Good morning.” she said cheerfully.

Maybe she’d been a little too close. Her entire face had reflected back at her from the eyes that had snapped open.

“AUGH!” the new one yelled, and jerked back so fast he’d almost cracked his head on the wall behind his bed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said again, scrabbling around and trying to get his bearings. “Wugh, uh, who—who—who are you?!” he asked, pointing a startled finger at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued on in a rattle of sound, “—where am I, what’s going on, where are my laser guns, where are my boots, where’s my—“

An entirely different panic flashed through his eyes, and his eyes flew to the small bedside table where—and master had been very particular about this—the “walkman” and its “headphones” lay, clean and untouched and shining. Mantis did not miss the half delighted, half frantic snatch the new one made at it, or the bewildered way he was trying to re-orient himself to his surroundings.

She stood up, still trying to smile. “Welcome.” she said as nicely as she knew how.

The new one stopped flailing around and stared at her, blinking.

“Okay.” he said slowly. “Hi.” He looked round the room, then back at her, almost hopefully. “Um…could you…tell me where we are? Please?” He tried smiling back at her, and she almost squeaked in delighted surprise. Not many of the new ones were nice to her. Not at the start.

“We are on the planet Ego.” she said helpfully.

The new one stared at her for a second. “This is gonna sound stupid,” he said slowly, “but, um….for some reason I’m thinking that….the planet’s my…dad?”  
Mantis tried shaking her head no, and then nodding her head yes very quickly, to answer both questions, but just ended up giving herself a headache.

“No, no, you are not stupid.” she said earnestly. “And yes, Ego is your father. Although he has started to call himself Jason. It is an easier name to use than Ego.”

The new one studied her intently, then stiffened, an unpleasant memory seeming to surge upwards in his mind.

“Where are my friends?” he asked, uneasily. Mantis bit her lip, not wanting to see him sad again. And it was true that she did not know where they were. Not exactly. “I do not know.” she said a careful moment later. “You are the only one on this planet. You were gravely injured before you came. Master took care of you.”

The new one frowned at that. “Huh. Thas’ funny, I don’ remember that part. How’d I get hurt?”

Mantis winced, remembering how bad he’d looked when he first came. How he’d been on the verge of collapse as she’d run up to him and Master. She remembered how much blood there had been, how swollen and hurt his face looked. Worst of all, she remembered how his breathing had rasped like the wind through the dying weeds out in the badlands. She blushed a little and hung her head. “I am not supposed to know…but my master said something about Ravagers. And a Yondu?”  
She saw a flash of pain crease his face. So he remembered it too. He grunted and cleared his throat a couple of times.

“Uh…” he looked down at himself, then back up at her. “I’d like to get outta this bed.” he said conversationally. Mantis nodded brightly. And waited.

He blinked a little. “Uh. Can I—“

Mantis blinked back and jumped into action. “Oh, yes. Here are your clothes.” Carefully, she lifted them from a nearby table and gave them to him. She smiled shyly at him. “They are washed and cleaned. Your jacket was ripped and burnt, but I hope I fixed it correctly.” He looked at the clothes, blinked again, a little faster this time, and cleared his throat again before answering. “Wow, it looks…great. Really. That was…wow. Thank you…” he looked searchingly at her. “I, uh, didn’t get your name…?”

“Oh!” she cried, and blushed to the roots of her antennae. “Mantis, my name is, Mantis.”

“Cool.” he said easily. “Thanks, Mantis.”

There was a brief pause.

“Uh, Mantis?”

“Yes, Peter-Quill also called Star-Lord?”

“Um…could you…uh, do you know where my…uhhhhh, my boots are? I—“

“Oh yes!” Mantis cried, springing up from her chair. “They are at the end of the hallway! I will go get them!”

The new one smiled a little at that, almost as if he hadn’t meant to, but her reaction had made him smile all the same. “Thanks Mantis. You’re really nice.”

She paused halfway out the door, antennae drooping in shame. “Nice?” she faltered. “I—I am sorry, I did not mean to be—“  
He looked quickly up. “Oh, no,” he said quickly, “Nononono, nice is, is a good thing.” He floundered at the anxious expression on her face. “Uh, nice is, is good. But sweet. Like a good thing, but done really, uh, kindly.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Ya know. Nice.”  
Her antennae perked up a little at that. “It is good?” she said hopefully. He nodded encouragingly at her. “Yeah. Good.”

“Oh, good!” she squeaked, and ran off to get the boots.

When she returned, he managed to put on the things humans called ‘pants’ and ‘shirt’ —strange words, but those were their words nonetheless—and was hopping into his “socks”. When she burst back into the room, she accidentally opened the inward-swinging door too quickly. There was a muffled “oof” of pain, and the door swung closed, revealing a stunned-looking Star-Lord who was ruefully hopping on one foot, one sock off and one sock on, rubbing at his nose in a resigned matter.

Mantis stopped, eyes wide, mouth dropping open into a little “o” of horror.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she stammered. Master had knocked her down for less. “Oh, oh, I am sorry, I am so, so sorry—“

He waved it off, shrugging. “It’s nod a probleb.” he said thickly. ‘I’b hab worse.” She winced, holding out the boots towards him in now-trembling hands.

“Dey, it’d kool.” he said, and patted her shoulder. She winced away from his touch, then forced herself to stand still. He stopped patting her shoulder, his expression changing a little. Oh, she knew it. She knew he’d get mad at her just like Master did. Worse, this new one was special, Master had said so, said that this one might just be the most powerful one of all.

Oh, no, if both of them were angry at her, it would be so dreadful—oh, no, and now she’d dropped the boots, and covered her face with her hands, because she didn’t want to see how angry he’d get, and didn’t want him to see how scared she was, oh,no,oh,no—

“Please don’t be angry,” she said, her voice breaking a little. “I am sorry, please tell me how I can fix it. I cannot be like Master, I cannot heal physical wounds with the light from the planet—all I can do is put people to sleep—that is all I am good for—I, oh, no, I do not know what to do…”  
Star-Lord also known as Peter Quill didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he spoke. “No worries, seriously. Uh…I mean if you wanna apologize so it makes you feel better, that’s cool…..uh…um…”

“Please tell me how can fix it!” she said, voice growing higher, thinner as her thoughts began to spiral out of control.

“Okay, okay—uh, yeah, sure, uhhhh, oh! Okay, just, it’s okay—there is something you can do. But only if you feel like trying it. You wanna—?”

“Yes.” she said without hesitation.

He snorted a little and said “Hey, you haven’t even heard my idea yet, what if you don’t like it?”

She shrugged. “I do not mind. I have stupid ideas. But you will be smart.”

He made a choking sound. “What if I told you I wanted to set myself on fire and run around the planet? While you recorded it on videocam?” he demanded.

She lowered her hands from her face and blinked up at him, slowly. “I would wonder why you wanted to cause yourself such pain.” she said sincerely. “But I would also assume you had a reason for such madness.”

He was looking at her in some bewilderment. Then something clicked in his eyes and he half-whispered, as to himself, “Like Drax said his daughter was. Kinda like Groot, too, maybe, no, wait, baby Groot, yeah, that’s it.” She blinked at him. He shook himself, smiled, and held out his “headphones” to her.

“Do you like music?” he asked. She bit her lip and wondered what the right answer was. He grinned at her. “You can say no, it’s okay.” he encouraged, and she found herself able to tell him the truth. “I do not think I know what that is.” she said bashfully. The smile that lit up his face could have ignited a sun. “Well, well, well.” he drawled. “This is your lucky day.”

She gingerly took the offered headphones from his hands. “Okay,” he said, “now, you gotta, and I mean gotta, listen to this song. It’s music, and it’s awesome, and if you like it, you can listen to more. It’ll be great. Okay?” She nodded gingerly and, at his signal, put the headphones over her ears. She watched him frown at the box he held in his hand, then press a few buttons. Rushing sounds flowed past her ears, and she beamed and gave him a big thumbs up. He shook his head, held up a finger, and fiddled around with the box a bit more. Then, he pressed one of the buttons.

And a beautiful, smooth voice she’d never heard before—but instantly loved—started humming something about how, _oooooh, child, things are gonna be easier, and oooooooh child, things’ll get brighter—_

She laughed, really laughed, for the first time in a long time. She saw him laugh too, give her a thumbs up. She gave him a thumbs up. For a second, they both just laughed. She hummed along to the tune, and he finished putting his boots on. He looked back up at her, grinning—but then his expression flickered, and for a horrible moment, Mantis thought he was angry at her.

But he was looking over her shoulder.

At the doorway.

Which meant—

Mantis sprang up, only just remembering to take the headphones off. “Master!” she gasped. Master stood in the doorway, looking at them both out of narrowed eyes.

“Peter.” he said smoothly, ignoring her completely. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.” Mantis’ new friend smiled back at his father, but she noticed that the grin did not reach his eyes. “Yeah, I am.” There was a brief pause. Peter blinked, suddenly realizing something. “…and how am I better again, exactly? Like, this quickly?”  
Jason’s smile was geniunely pleased. “The planet is healing you.” He paused, then amended his words. “That is to say, the light from the planet’s core is. I am healing you.”

Peter quirked an eyebrow. “And it can do that beeeeeeeecause I’m your kid?”

Jason nodded. “Your genetic makeup makes you uniquely able to regenerate here. With time, your recovery will become whole and permanent.”  
Peter nodded slowly to himself, then stood up quickly. “Awesome.” he said easily. Before Mantis knew it, he’d taken hold of her hand and started heading out towards the room’s balcony and the stairs leading down from them to the gardens. “Mantis and I are gonna listen to some tunes and walk around the place.” he said over his shoulder. “See ya later.”

Mantis looked fearfully back at Jason. Who, for once, did not seem ready to unleash his wrath upon his offspring. Yet.

“Have a nice time. I will rest in the meanwhile. No, Mantis, I don’t need your help this time. And, Peter.”

Peter paused, half-way in, half-way out of the doorway. “Yeah?”

“I don’t recommend going for a spacewalk. There’s an ugly asteroid storm out there. Very hostile atmosphere. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

Peter’s grin was forced now. “ Yeah ’kay thanks bye.” With that, he left, pulling Mantis behind him. The last thing Mantis saw as they left was Jason’s hooded smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	16. Dead End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mantis and Peter have a conversation, and things start to go _down_.

“Dammit, the bastard was right.” Peter growled, looking up. Far above them, streaks of light shot intermittently across the darkening sky, red and white lines bursting into little spots of color when they collided with each other. Peter paced, still studying the patterns intently. “That’s not a freak asteroid storm, it’s a friggin asteroid field out there.”

  
Mantis was still unfamiliar with how most social interactions worked, but she understood enough to know that Peter was not angry with her. His mutterings were more of a way to work out what was going on in his mind. Which, apparently, was very fast. And very busy.

“…so I can’t just rocketboot us outta here, besides, you don’t got a mask, and the asteroids would turn us inta paste. Plus we don’t got a ship to go to, and there aren’t any planets I know of around here. So we can’t just fly through empty space until we find one, cuz we don’t have provisions—“

He turned to her and asked, hopefully, “I don’t suppose dear old Dad has, like, shuttles? Spaceships?”

Mantis shook her head sadly. “No. He creates one when he wants to. But he does not keep it once he finishes his travels.”

Peter cocked an eyebrow at that. “Why does he travel? He’s a planet, can’t he just make stuff to do around here?”

Mantis shook her head emphatically. “No. Nothing that holds his interest for very long. He seeks others.”

“Others like him?”

“No, to make others—to make everyone—like him.”

Peter snorted. “If he treats other people the way he treats you, it’s no wonder the guy has no friends.”

Mantis shook her head again. “No, not to make friends. To make others…” she sought for words. “….um…the same as him.”

Peter looked blank. “But he’s a planet.”

She nodded, pleased he understood. “Precisely.”

He stared at her. “But how…”

She bit her lip. She wasn’t explaining it correctly. She was muddled. She was stupid. She was—she floundered for words.

“…he…he…wants to take them into himself. Make them part of him.” She hoped he would understand. He stared at her for a moment more, then understanding clicked behind his eyes.

“Crap. Like Taserface. And the other Ravagers.”

Mantis looked confused. “Who are they?”

Now it was Peter’s turn to flounder for words. “Uh, when I came here. I remember one of the Ravagers brought me. Big guy, ugly face. Somethin about a bounty, I guess. When he irritated Jason…” Peter made a snatching gesture at the air with his hands. “Chomp, gulp. Right inta the planet.” He looked across at her. “So he, eats them?”

She nodded. “More or less. They become one with him.”

Peter frowned and continued pacing. “How come he hasn’t done it to you yet? How’d you even get here?”

“He found me during his travels. I was unclaimed on my home world, and he took me here once he found out I can help him sleep. I am useful to him.” She said simply. “Others…not so much.”

Peter glowered. “So he basically kidnapped you when you were a baby and uses you here. What a nice guy.”  
His tone was thick with something she did not often hear. “Are you being sarcastic?” she asked. Peter nodded. She bit her lip a little. “Are you angry with me?” Peter blinked at her. “No, no way. I’m just—“ he threw his hand out and gestured towards the planet stretching out before them. “—pissed off that he treats ya like that. You’re like, what, thirteen?”

Mantis shrugged. “I think so. I do not think I am very old on my homeworld. But I have never been back, so I do not know.”

Peter growled again to himself. “Super nice guy. Abducts little girls and then keeps ‘em to help with his evil overlord plan. Classic.” He kept pacing, then stopped abruptly.

“You want to leave here, right?” he asked. Mantis blinked back at him, wide-eyed. She could not remember the last time anyone asked her what she wanted. “Yes.” she said after a pause. “It is so lonely here. But I do not think we can—“

Peter gave her an encouraging smile and waved her concerns aside. “Nah, I’ll get you outta here, don’t worry about it. You can meet Gammorra and Drax and Rocket and Groot—oh my gosh, you’ll love Baby Groot, you and he’ll get along great—but don’t pet Rocket, at least not without askin first, otherwise you might get your fingers bit off.” He trailed off, cast a dirty look back towards the mansion, stormed a few more paces, and then burst out talking again.

“How does that jackass think he can just eat everyone? He can’t trick everyone in the galaxy to come down here and then eat ‘em like popcorn! After a while people would figure it out! Unless…” Peter stopped pacing, stared uneasily at the thick gardens and climbing vines around them. He swallowed, hard.  
“Unless he uses a different way. Like a virus. Or a kind of…” he stopped, stared into space for a second. Then looked down at the walkman still clutched tightly in one hand “Like a cancer.” he all but whispered.

Mantis cocked her own head. “What is cancer?”

Peter Quill also known as Star Lord was still staring at his walkman as he answered. “It’s a…a growth that isn’t supposed to be there. Makes your own body attack itself. Eats ya from the inside. Kills ya.” He looked back up at her, eyes angry, mouth set. “We gotta call the other Guardians.” he said seriously. “We gotta take this guy out.”

Mantis bit her lip as he pulled out a comm unit and flicked it open. “Comms do not work on this planet.” she said, almost desperately. “Jason does not like them.”

Peter shot a nasty glare back towards Jason’s ornate mansion. “I figured. But he never tried blockin a comms signal that Rocket made.” He grinned at her as he punched buttons without looking. “Check this out.” He held up the comms up to his ear. “Hey, Rocket!”

Nothing. Just a faint buzz of static.

He frowned, looked at the comm again, tapped it a little. Held it back up to his ear. “Hey, Rocket, buddy. Ya copy? Come in.” Mantis wanted to cry.

“Come on, man, answer. Wait. Is this about the password thing again? Ugh, fine.” He rolled his eyes and rattled off the next few words very quickly.

“Rocketisthebestpilotinthegalaxy and Quillhasdelusionsofgrandeur.” He huffed. ‘There, happy?”

Nothing.

He looked at the comms again. Scratched the back of his head. “Huh.” he said, and Mantis could see the worry in his face, although there was none in his voice. “Lazy bum must be asleep. Or somethin.”

Mantis opened her mouth, closed it again. Peter looked over at her, suddenly very serious. “You said I was the only one on this planet.” he said. She nodded, the motion very small. “Was that true?” She nodded again.

“Mantis.”

She couldn’t look at him.

“Mantis, come on. Where are my friends?”

She blinked hard.

“Mantis, please, do you know where they are?”

“No.” she whispered. Peter groaned in frustration. She heard him mashing the buttons again on his comms, the sounds faster, more chaotic than before.

“But…”

Sudden silence.

“…I…I heard Master when he told Taserface to…” She paused.

“To what?” His voice was very small as well.

Mantis forced herself to go on. “He said he did not want you to have any distractions.”

The comms unit clattered to the ground. Mantis looked up quickly at her new friend. He’d gone white, and the look in his eyes frightened her. She reached out a hand, but he shook his head and stepped back, still shaking his head as if he was denying something other than just her offer of help. He swallowed hard.

“…remember now.” he said thickly. He swallowed again. Then turned towards the house, a fierce and almost ugly light firing far back behind his eyes.

Mantis cried out for him to stop. She realized she’d leapt up from the bench and was pushing against his chest with both hands, her heels furrowing small tracks behind her as he continued forward. He blinked, stopped, looked down at her.

“Please!” she cried, almost near tears. “Do not! Or he will take you away like all the others!”

Peter had looked murderous. Now he still looked angry. But also confused. “Others?”

“His other children!” Mantis all but wailed. “He brings them here to see if they will help him. But they never can, and then he takes them away, and none ever come back!”

Peter blinked. “Other children? I…I have brothers and sisters?” He stopped short, swallowed hard at the look on her face. “I…did have…brothers and sisters?”

Mantis did start to cry then. “Yes,” she sobbed, “yes, from all across the galaxy. But I think you may be the last. Master was so upset none of them could help him.”

Peter gritted his teeth, glared back up at the house. “What’d he do to them?”

Mantis kept crying. “I do not know.” she sniffled. “At first, he told me they did not want to stay because I annoyed them. But, then, one day, while he slept, he began to cry out, and said that he had done what needed to be done and that they did not feel any pain.” Her voice shook. “It was then that I realized what it was he was doing.”

She began to cry harder. “The next time, I did try to stop him, I did, Peter Quill, I did, but it only made him angry. And my friend vanished all the same. I thought that, perhaps, if I was very good, maybe he would not make the next one disappear once they failed, but he did. And the next, and the next, and the next…”

She kept crying. “I tried, Peter Quill, I did try, I promise! But it does not work! He is too strong! And I do not know how anyone can ever stop him!’

During this confession she’d melted into an incoherent, weeping mess. Only at this point did she realize Peter had taken her over to one of the garden benches and sat her comfortably down. And was patting her hair, very gently. “It’s okay.” he said, over and over again. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay—”

Mantis snuffled again and raised her head. She realized Peter was looking up at the mansion again, murder in his eyes. But he was still patting her head. “—kay, okay, okay? You’re okay.”

Mantis sniffed, and found that she’d mostly stopped crying. Quill gave her head a final pat. Then drew both his laser pistols and clicked the hammers back.

“O- ** _kay_**.” He said, as if to himself. “That son of a _**bitch**_ needs to **_die_**.”

Mantis sniffled. “But how will you do it, Star-Lord? You cannot know how to manipulate the power at his core, yet, surely?”

She realized Peter was staring at her. “I can what?” he said, fierce excitement threading through the thick disbelief in his voice.

She stared back at him. “Did I not say? If you are his offspring, you have a chance of wielding his power as well. That is what he hopes for. That is what he needs. When he heard tell of your feat with the Infinity Stone…he hoped that, for once, he had found the one to help him achieve his goal. To aid him, to give him the power to make all others like him.” She sniffed again, wiped her nose on her sleeve. “That is why he fought so hard to find you.”

Peter Quill’s smirk was harsh. “Boy, was that a mistake.”

A new voice, from behind them. Calm, self-possessed, and utterly unafraid. “Was it?”

Peter whipped round, aiming both laser pistols.

Mantis screamed and ducked behind Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	17. Lost Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which unexpected badassery abounds.

Jason struck without warning and without visible movement. One second he was smiling affably at them from across the clearing where they were. The next, he’d cleared the ten feet or so between them in a finger snap, and had grabbed Peter by the neck in a grip Mantis had seen pulverize stone.

  
As fast as Jason was, Peter almost stopped him. One of his laser pistols fired just as Jason’s hand slapped it aside, and the resulting plasma bolt seared an angry red mark along the sentient planet’s temple. Jason stopped for a moment, shook his head. He gingerly touched his fingertips to the wound and inspected the blood that came away on them. He almost smiled at Peter.

“Do you know, that’s the first time anyone’s ever managed that?” he asked conversationally. Peter could not return a reply, as his windpipe was slowly being crushed.

Jason grinned at his son. “It’s good you have fight in you. That’s what we’ll need to make The Expansion a success. Don’t lose that.” He straightened, then turned, starting to drag Peter back towards the mansion.

Which is when Mantis, screaming, slammed him on the back of the head with a rock.

Jason staggered more out of surprise than anything else, his hold on Peter’s throat slipping slightly. His son kicked out and one of his boots connected—hard—with his father’s solar plexus. Jason oofed and fell to his knees, his grip on Peter’s neck loosening still further. Mantis screamed and hit the back of his head with her rock, again and again and again, the blows punctuating almost every word.

“I! won’t! help! you! any! more!” she screamed. Dropping her rock, she ran around Jason, grabbed Peter’s arm, and dragged him frantically away.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she babbled. “—hurry, hurry, hurry, he will not be—oh!”

Peter yelled and grabbed at her arm in turn, but the looping tendril of blue light had whisked her away from his side and slammed her against the earth with bone-crushing force. She frantically flailed around and managed to get herself up to her hands and knees. Then she screamed again, a thin wail of terror, as she felt her wrists and knees literally sinking into the earth beneath her. For one terrified second, Mantis thought that Master was finally following through on his threats to assimilate her.

Then she realized he’d just trapped her, her wrists and knees locked a few crucial inches underneath the surface of the planet. She looked round for her friend. And found him only a few yards away.

During the commotion, Peter had activated his rocket boots. But instead of doing the smart thing and flying away, he’d remained in the thick of the fray, fruitlessly shooting at his father’s back, trying to distract him from Mantis.

“LET HER GO!” he roared, and Mantis had never thought that someone who had such a goofy smile could sound so scary. “SHE’S JUST A SCARED LITTLE GIRL, YOU KRUTAKIN SONOFABI—“

Without looking back at him, Jason flicked a wrist. Not one, not two, but five looping tendrils of energy, each as thick as Mantis’ waist and eight times as high, broke through the ground’s surface and thrust themselves at her friend.

He dodged two, shot another, and backflipped over the fourth, still shooting—and hitting—his father directly in the chest. Each blast blew holes through the other man’s center of mass. Jason turned, chest regenerating from the last several shots, and glared upwards at his son.

With deliberate consideration and lightning-fast aim, Peter put his next shot thorough Jason’s left eye.

And then the last energy tendril impaled Peter from behind, spearing through the center of his chest. Without slowing down, it yanked him backwards and up until he hovered a good thirty feet above the gravel and dirt.

Both energy pistols dropped to the ground. Smaller tendrils grew out of the earth, reached up for the rocket boots with hungry fingers, and wrapped round his ankles, crushing the boots into little metal pieces that rained down over Mantis’ head. She screamed again as her friend twisted above her on the glowing end of the spike.

Jason slapped her hard across the face, cutting her scream off with a gurgle. “Don’t overreact.” he said cooly. “I’m not going to kill him.” He looked up at his son—who was still looking down, shocked, at the tip of white-blue light sticking out of his chest—and glared. “But I think I will kill her.” he shouted, over the dull thrum of energy emanating from the tendrils. “You’ve corrupted her, Peter. She’s of no use to me now.”

He turned towards Mantis and raised one fist, knuckles glowing white with unearthly power. Mantis shut her eyes tight and bowed her head as well as she could. She heard Peter scream again, and then a blast of earth-shattering force passing just above her head made everything go black.

She thought she was dead.

Which was strange, because she didn’t feel dead at all.

After nothing changed for awhile, she opened one eye.

She wasn’t dead. And neither was Peter.

And neither was Jason.

She blinked hard at the sight before her. Jason was down on one knee in front of her, expression set and strained in pain, one hand clutching the other arm to his chest. She stared, unbelieving. His arm was bleeding. Bleeding. As if he’d been struck by a heavy blow.

But he’d never—

She turned her eyes upward. Peter was still impaled on the end of the tendril, eyes wide and dark, breath heaving in his chest, one palm extended towards Jason. Blue fire glowed in the center of it, the tips of his fingers steaming in the cool twilight air.

Dumbly, Mantis stared upwards. Peter gulped in a few deep breaths and looked at his hand, then at Jason, then at Mantis, then at his hand again.

And Jason started to laugh. He was levering himself up to his feet, and he was laughing.  
“The active Celestial gene.” he said, savoring the words. Mantis shuddered at the complete and utter satisfaction in his tone. “I thought as much when I heard about your little stunt with the Infinity Stone. But I wanted to be sure.”

Peter snarled and brought his hand to bear on Jason again. Jason twitched a few fingers on his undamaged hand. The tendril sticking out of Peter’s chest sprouted new branches that curled and twined up his neck and down his arms. With the speed of thought, they forced his elbows to bend and twisted his arms behind him. Jason smirked, and beckoned the tendrils down and close, so that he and Peter were now eye to eye.

“Boy.” he said, his tone utterly alien and utterly old. “I’ve lived for several thousand millennia. Do you think there’s one trick I don’t know about?”

Peter, being Peter, spat in his face and tried for a snappy retort. Jason shrugged. Another tendril, an almost lazy one, split off from the main branch and wound itself around Peter’s face, muffling his reply so that it only came out as a choke. Jason smiled at his enraged offspring.

“If you want to talk, let’s have a talk.” He flicked a hand. The earth at their feet opened, splitting into wide stairs that stretched out and down for an immeasurable distance into stygian blackness. Jason spared Mantis a glance.

“As for you,” he said, and the thoughtful malice in his voice made her own blood shiver, “I will crush you when you have outlived your usefulness, and not a second before. Remain here until I return.”

Mantis whimpered.  
Peter made another sound at this, eyes blazing, and strained against the tendrils that held him. Jason rolled his eyes and made a clenching motion with his fist. The dark hole yawning before them seemed to roll upwards and forwards, swallowing the two figures the way an ocean wave swallows an unsuspecting swimmer.

Then they were gone.

The only things left to show their passing were the rocket-boot pieces still littering the ground around her.

And Peter’s comms unit, which she was sure he’d hooked back into his belt before the whole fight had started.

Peter’s flashing comms unit.

Wait, it hadn’t been—

It’d been silent—

—but now there was another voice yelling from the small speakers—

“—ill! Peter! Quill! Fraggin asteroid fields—Quill! Krutakin Celestials, Star-Brain, ANSWER YER KRUTAKIN COMMS!!”

Mantis squeaked and shouted back at it, hoping against hope they could hear her.

“—ello! Please! Yes, come to us!”

The voice just kept on yelling for Quill to pick up his—various profanities—comms unit. Mantis bit her lip, tried tugging her wrists out of the unyielding earth beneath her. No good. Then she had a thought. Bending her neck down as far as she could, she concentrated and stretched out her antennae towards the little comms unit, straining for the button on the side. Peter had pressed it when he was trying to contact his friends…maybe that was the way her voice could travel to them.  
For a heart-stopping second, it looked like she wouldn’t be able to make it. Then she felt the cool metal against the feathery tip of her antennae, and she could have cried in relief.

She tugged the comms unit towards her and anxiously pressed the right button. “Guardians?” she quavered. “Please, come get us—Star-Lord was here, but he took him—oh, please help us, I cannot get him out on my own—“

A deep voice, gruff and brusque. “That is not Quill.”

The first voice, snarling. “No krutak, Drax—“

A piping voice “IamGroot, IamGroot!” The first voice grumbled a reply. “—of course we’ll help her too, but where the krutak is she? The comms signal is still bouncing all over the—“

A feminine voice, authoritative, decisive. “We can help each other. Who is this?”

Mantis stuttered. “M—Mantis. I—I am Peter Quill’s f-f-friend.” She fought back another sob, gulped ungracefully instead. “Please hurry! He is in great danger!”

“We will. Can you tell us where you are?”

Mantis closed her eyes, desperately mapping the planet in her mind. “I—I am in the gardens. Can you see—is there a lake near where you are? A round one?”

A pause. “Yes, there is.”

“Is there a shining building in the center?”

“Yes!” The woman’s voice was getting more excited now.

“The gardens surround the mansion. I am near the front. There is a statue of a woman with golden hair…and, and she’s holding a basket…I am near there…”

“We’re getting close, but it’s still a very big area. Can you come out to meet us?”

Mantis felt her lower lip begin to tremble. “I am afraid I—I—cannot. I am—trapped. Oh, please hurry! The light is blinking on your comms—it is fading, it is about to die—I am afraid—I am afraid you will not find me—“

The comms did die, then, in a final burst of fretful pique. Mantis hung her head, felt the beginnings of a hysterical sob building in her throat. Then an entirely different sound greeted her ears. The roar of a shuttle zooming in overhead, and hovering just above her location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	18. Nothing Alike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They may be related, but they are _not_ alike.

Meanwhile, down in the planet’s core, Jason was almost wishing he’d tried a different tactic with Peter. It wouldn’t have been that hard to play it nice with him, the way he’d approached his other progeny. Invite him to the planet, mask the test as some sort of game, and then quietly dispose of the body if Peter turned out to be just as much a disappointment as the rest of his siblings.

But.

Jason had the uncomfortable feeling that questions would have been asked if the Star-Lord (gods that name was so STUPID) had just vanished without an explanation from the galaxy. And at best those pesky friends of his would have been poking their noses around where they had no right to be.

Besides, the small furry one enjoyed blowing up moons. Jason didn’t want that homicidal, unhinged experiment anywhere near him or his delicate core. He also didn’t like the thought of encountering the implacable master assassin. Or the deranged ex-gladiator. Not even the tree thing. It was, apparently, almost impossible to kill.

He didn’t want any of those uncomfortable misfits even coming into his stratosphere.

So he’d taken this approach.

At last, the Expansion was moments away from beginning. Although, since his last and finally successful son was actually fighting back, it made things less stream-lined than planned.

To be fair, however, Jason literally could not remember when he’d last had a fight that lasted more than a few milliseconds. So at least it was mildly entertaining.

Once he’d gotten Peter down to the core, the kid had found some previously untapped well of energy and they’d had a brief, if impassioned, fistfight. The kid hadn’t lasted more than half a minute, but he was unreasonably agitated. For some reason he’d strenuously objected to Jason’s detailed explanation of how he wanted to assimilate all known life in the galaxy.

Which just went to show how weak and inexperienced the boy actually was. Jason grieved deeply over this, and decided that remedying that defect in his son’s character would take first priority once the Expansion was well and truly underway.

Or take second priority. First priority was that the Expansion had to be started. And Peter was going to help him, like it or not.

Jason stepped back and studied the scene before him.

His own glowing core, his heart, the heart of his planet, was pulsating with blue light in front of him. Very good. It was as healthy and strong as ever. The protective mineral shield surrounding it was also in excellent condition.

Then Jason turned his gaze over to Peter. His son had insisted on putting up a fight ever since they’d come down the tunnels, and so Jason—regretfully—had had to maintain less than pleasant ways of getting him to stay still. The boy still hung from the energy tendrils a few feet off the cavern floor, all fight momentarily knocked out of him. His face continued to grow steadily more grey and mottled. Must have been the strain of the energy spikes affecting his human side. Well, if he’d just cooperate, they wouldn’t be draining him at all. Well. Some choices you just couldn’t force others to make.

Jason shook his head, then turned his attention back to the Expansion. He drew in a breath and flicked his fingers outwards. A map of the entire galaxy sprang into life around the chamber, encircling the two of them. Stars and constellations shone and spun slowly in their courses, suns and moons and orbits painstakingly crafted to match each corner of the cosmos they stood in. The map had taken over three millennia to fully complete. It was beautiful, expansive, exquisitely detailed, and flawlessly perfect.

Well, it’d really be perfect once he—they—had assimilated each planet, of course.

Jason found himself explaining as much to his son. He didn’t need to expand on this now, not really, but getting the boy started on the right path couldn’t hurt.

“—each tiny blue spark? That’s where I planted a small extension of myself. With your help, every planet in the galaxy will be perfected. If you’d like to help me willingly, you can still change your mind.”

Jason patiently undid the tendril around his son’s face and waited for a reply. Peter spat blood for a few seconds. Then snarled at him.

“The hell I will.”

Jason’s eyes hardened. His son glared back, eyes dark and furiously triumphant. “And,” the boy spat, “that means the end of your little plan. So much for your stupid “devour all life in the universe” shtick. I’m not gonna help ya. So you’re just screwed, and stuck on your stupid planet—stuck here, with yourself—until the end of time.” The kid’s sudden grin found nothing humorous in the situation, but mocked it all the same. “So, hahah, sucker.” His expression faltered a little as Jason began to laugh. “Wha?” the kid asked, taken aback. “Wha’s so…funny?”

Jason wiped a tear from his eye. “You think I need your willing cooperation.” he said simply. “How endearing.”

The boy’s eyes widened as he saw Jason flick his hand again, and the tiny blue lights on the planets around them sprang into sudden flaring life. Jason spared his son a mirthless smile. “Now that you’re here, I can continue with—and finish—the Expansion. You can choose to actively take part and enjoy our remolding of the galaxy, or merely provide the necessary energy while suffering excruciating pain. Your choice.”

Without waiting to see the boy’s reply, Jason closed his eyes. And started to change the worlds.

In his mind, his vision split, showing him innumerable planets and countless life forms shifting and clamoring, all going their own separate ways. The little seeds, the little extensions of himself that he’d spread all over the galaxy, all glowed with a pulsing, azure light, a theme of constancy and unity in the ever-shifting tapestry of change.

Jason opened his palms, drew upon his own energy, and fed it into one, single, unified current. As one, the seeds sprouted, and started to grow. Jason felt his own reserves getting thin. This was always the part. This was always the part when he couldn’t maintain the energy levels, had to stop and collapse, panting, to the ground, wishing so much for someone to help him in this endeavor, someone who could help him bring order and unity and coherence to the galaxy.

Someone who could make him feel like he wasn’t utterly alone in the universe.

But now he had that someone.

Without opening his eyes, Jason reached out and drew out energy from the boy. As he did so, he felt a thin pull of resistance, heard as if from a great ways away a horrible, agonized scream, but shut the knowledge of both from his mind. It did not matter. The boy’s life force fueled the Expansion nonetheless. And that was all that mattered.

Within seconds, the seeds grew from centimeters, to inches, to feet, to yards, to miles, bubbling, growing, expanding, absorbing all in their path. Across thousands of worlds, screams in dozens of languages. Life forms of every age, size, shape, color, and creed fled before the oncoming beauty.

And there was simply no stopping it.

Until something did.

Jason frowned as a faint nagging sensation started to prick the back of his neck. He frowned harder, tried to concentrate on it. There it was again. The sensation wasn’t trying to stop the Expansion anymore, wasn’t trying to hold the growth back or keep the seeds from sprouting. The Expansion was too far gone for that. But the faint little signal was trying to—

—to—

Jason’s eyes flew open.

Sudden, fierce pain in his head. Awful, freezing cold twisted and warped throughout the Expansion. Jason cried out as he felt horrible, heavy crystals forming over and inside the growing blossoms of his creativity. The sudden ice dragged them down, froze them solid, and slowed the rapidly expanding tendrils to a snail’s crawl.

The saboteur had given up on preventing the growths.

But he hadn’t given up on stopping them.

Jason felt his lips peel back from his teeth as he turned back towards his son. Who—despite looking awful—still had the ghost of his trademark smirk just visible on his face.

“You—you spent all that time—in Missouri—and you never—never heard tell of a—a cold snap?”

Jason’s eyes went flat as his son continued to talk. “By the way, I didn’t get a chance ta tell ya—what I thought of ya.” Peter gulped for air, then continued. “And seein as I’ve wanted to do it since I was, like, eight, and since your ‘Expansion’”—here the kid actually made sarcastic quotation marks with his trembling fingers—“is, ya know, cancelled due to in—inclement w-weather conditions, I figured now was as good a time as any.”

Jason just stared at him.

“You—you know what, Dad,” Peter snarled, and the name held no endearment in it,—“you—you left the best—the most amazing woman—ever, and you just—you left her, alone—and then she got cancer—“ here his voice broke a little—“—an, she died, an, you know what, she waited—she waited so long to see you, hopin you’d come back. She—she told me—stories—about how great a man my daddy was, and much you two were in love, and how you always told her that one day your love would—huh, ignite the stars. Huh, she even said, I still remember her sayin it to me—that, that I’d be—I’d proud to be his kid.” He paused for breath, sucked it in. “But ya know what?”

Jason set his teeth. Peter’s glare was most definitely his mother’s.

“SHE’D BE DISAPPOINTED IN YOU.”  
That stung something in Jason. It cut to the part of him that—small and weak and fading though it was—had genuinely cared for the woman. She’d been funny, and smart, and capable, and everything he’d ever wanted. She’d shown him the power and the magic of laughter, of dancing, and of music. Most importantly, she’d known how to love others and how to be loved in return.

She’d been fascinating. Alluring.

And the ultimate distraction.

Now, in this moment, inches away from achieving his ultimate goal, Jason realized he truly regretted ever meeting Meredith Quill. Not only because their progeny was the biggest pain-in-the-ass he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter. But also because Jason finally acknowledged—if only to himself—that she’d spoken to something deep within him. A need that was at cross-purposes to his ultimate one. That lesser goal she’d shown him was one he knew he would be forever incapable of achieving.

Well. Not incapable.

But self-giving love was for weak and lesser beings. Beings of great eternity and power did not put the needs of any beings above their own.

Even very special lesser beings.

No.

There were no special lesser beings.

There was the Expansion. And nothing else.

Jason snarled, jerked a fist towards himself. The tendril holding Peter darted forward, shoved Peter closer. Jason realized he’d grabbed hold of his son’s collar and was snarling into his face.

“Your mother is not, and never was, part of our ultimate purpose.” he gritted, and shook the boy harder on each word. “I give you heritage from the stars themselves, and you hang back from our very reason for existing? Why? For what reason would you side with lesser beings?”

“Uh, cuz, maybe, I’m, actually not, an absolute dick?”

Jason sneered at that. “Is that what you tell yourself, Star-Lord?” He put as much contempt as he could into the name. “A petty thief, a common criminal who can’t even come up with thirteen percent of a plan to save the galaxy. You only stopped mass genocide through dumb luck and sheer stupidity. You think Meredith would be proud of you?” He smiled.

The kid stopped smirking at that. His eyes narrowed, his mouth tensed. “Don’t say her name.”

Jason smiled slightly at that. “What…Meredith?”

Peter lunged at him. The tendril holding him jerked him backwards. (Jason made sure it was painful.)

“Don’t say her name!” he spat again. “You don’t get to! You LEFT her to DIE ALONE! WHEN SHE NEEDED YOU MOST, YOU WEREN’T EVEN THERE!!”

Jason’s smile was cruel and cold. “The way I heard it, you were the one who let her die alone.” His eyes glittered in the intermittent shadows of the cavern. “Or have you forgotten how you wouldn’t even take her hand?”

Peter stopped struggling at that, shoulders hunching in as if he’d been struck. He looked heartsick, and lost, and suddenly a lot younger.

Jason continued, mercilessly twisting the knife in deeper. “You were the one who refused to grant her last request.” he observed coldly. “And such a simple one at that. Then you couldn’t even look at her.” His smile widened like a shark’s. “And when you did…she was dead.”

Peter swallowed hard, his expression twisting. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Tears suddenly glinted at the corners of his eyes.

Jason shrugged, the small part of him that’d been affected by Peter’s words maliciously glad he’d managed to hurt Peter far worse in return.

“As I said.” he said smoothly. “You, Star-Lord, are nothing more than a self-serving coward. Who’s too much of an idiot to take the one good chance offered him. Who keeps getting distracted from the bigger picture.”

His eyes lit on the walkman hanging on Peter’s belt. He remembered the old scratched box, remembered listening to Meredith’s endless music tapes on those same orange headphones.

Jason reached out a hand and took them.

With a sudden, frantic hiss of breath, Peter realized what he was doing and tried to stop him. Jason stepped to one side and flicked his wrist carelessly. The tendril spearing his son’s chest elongated painfully, dragging the boy up just a few crucial inches so that his stretching fingers only managed to brush against the surface of the small, scuffed box. Then Jason stepped away, staying just out of reach, and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the way he finally had the kid’s frantic, undivided attention.

Jason hefted the walkman in one hand, keeping his eyes on Peter’s face. “It’s things like these,” he said slowly, “that keep us from achieving our final goal.” Jason’s grip tightened on the small device. Old Terran plastic and metal whined underneath his fingers. He felt little pieces start to crack out of place.

Peter’s face was white, his eyes wide. For once, he didn’t have anything to say.

Jason threw back his head and laughed. The kid hadn’t looked this scared while they were fighting with cosmic energy, for heaven’s sake.  
He looked down at the walkman, then back up at his son. “This is the only thing you have left of her, isn’t it.” he asked. It wasn’t really a question. Jason knew the answer already.

 

Then he finished crushing the walkman in front of Peter’s eyes. As the pieces fell to the ground, he saw the boy’s eyes track them, frantically trying to see where each one fell. As if he’d ever be able to assemble it again.

Jason ground his heel on a few choice bits and made sure to snap the thin black ribbon that came spooling out of the “cassette” Meredith had scribbled a thick “Awesome Mix Vol 2” on decades before. Then he stomped down hard on that as well, smiling as he felt the thin plastic crack and splinter into pieces under his boot.

From the look on Peter’s face, you would have thought Jason had pulverized his heart instead of his walkman.

Then again…

Jason smiled winningly up at him.

“Now that that’s over,” he said brightly, “let us continue.”

Peter said nothing, gaze fading and fixed somewhere in the distance, his expression lost and broken.

“Peter.” Jason said warningly. “Focus.”

Peter blinked, slowly looked back at him. Jason tried, one last time, to be patient. “I have rid you of all your distractions.” he said coaxingly. “First your mother, then your friends, now your antiquated little machine. Make the smart move, Peter. Choose to be part of—“

The boy shook his head. “What?” he asked. His voice was flat. But something in it set off distant alarm bells in Jason’s head.

“I’ve rid you of your distractions.” he repeated.

Peter’s eyes were no longer faint or far away. They were very much present, and absolutely burning with fury.

“My mom and my friends weren’t distractions.” He gritted out.

Jason shrugged, figuring it couldn’t hurt to be honest. “They were.” he said bluntly. “Your mother would have waged intergalactic war rather than lose you, and your friends likewise. I—and Taserface—removed them from the equation before things got…messy.”

Peter stared at him, puzzled. He’d snarled at the mention of Taserface’s destruction of his friends, but something else had seized his attention.

“My mom died of inoperable brain cancer.” he said numbly. “How could you have—“

His eyes flicked to the pulsing center of the planet. Widened as he connected that energy to the Expansion.

Then he screamed at Jason, and the sound began to have an unearthly quality to it. Rocks started to shake loose from the walls and Jason staggered to keep his balance as the earth shifted suddenly under him.

“YOU! SON! OF! A! BITCH!” Peter roared. “YOU GAVE MY MOM _**CANCER**_!!”

Jason recovered his balance, twitched his shoulder sideways in a “Weeeeeellll yeaaaaaah.” kind of way. Peter screamed again. “YOU BASTARD!” he shrieked. “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH IT HURT HER?! HOW BAD IT GOT BEFORE SHE DIED?!!”

Jason shrugged one shoulder again. “I may have placed it slightly in the wrong spot.” he admitted. “But I was upset, so—“

The veins in Peter’s neck started jumping, and the boy abruptly stopped screaming. For a moment, the boy just stared at him. Then closed his eyes and started to laugh.

Jason quirked an eyebrow.

It wasn’t a normal sort of laugh.

It wasn’t even a remotely healthy sort of laugh.

Come to think of it, it wasn’t really a laugh at all.

“Ohhh, boy.” Peter said then, and the voice coming out of the kid’s mouth didn’t sound much like Star-Lord at all. “Ohhhhh, man, you were upset. You gave my mom brain cancer because she was a distraction to you, and you were upset.”

Suddenly, Peter’s eyes shot open. Despite himself, Jason started backwards. Just a step. But he started backwards nonetheless.

Because Peter’s eyes were glowing a bright, electric blue.

Jason was impressed.

But unafraid.

Peter may have tapped into his full power at long last.

But Jason had experience. And experience always won.

As Peter roared and thrust a palm glowing with bright white light out at his father, Jason sighed, stepped to the side, and gestured with the fingers of one hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	19. Hold That Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jason has (another) idea that Peter strenuously objects to.

“I will tell you this for the last time.” Jason said twenty-five seconds later. Peter’s first strike had almost vaporized Jason’s current form, and Jason was feeling a lot less impressed and a lot more irritated. Getting vaporized hurt, dammit.

  
And he’d had just about enough with Peter’s little tantrums. So now he was not taking any chances that the kid could pull a stunt like that again.

Jason glared up at the subject in question, who was now stretched out horizontally above him, forty feet off the floor of the cavern, and had six tendrils holding him in place. The first one still went through the chest, one more was now securing each limb, and the last one was wrapped tightly around his ribs, squeezing spasmodically to make sure the kid didn’t have a steady supply of oxygen coming in.

It looked painful.

As a matter of fact, Jason had made sure it was. But it could all be avoided if the dast little scruffter would just stop fighting him and understand.

“You don’t seem to fully comprehend the nature of our bond.” Jason said through gritted teeth. “So I will spell it out for you once again. As long as this light—“ Jason jerked his head back towards the planet’s core—“burns, you are immortal, boy. You cannot—and will not—die.” Something ugly ignited far back in his eyes. “I can—and will—keep you here, alive, as long as I want. You can either fight by my side or spend the rest of your eternal life as a battery. If you choose the latter—“

—here a seventh tendril spiked, drove its way up through the boy’s arm—

—Peter yelled something profane that Jason didn’t, or couldn’t, understand. Jason rolled his eyes and continued over the screams—

“—I will make sure it is excruciatingly painful. And ensure you have no opportunity to sabotage our work again.”

More swearing. Peter paused to take a breath, and Jason took the opportunity to finish his lecture.

“Your choice.”

He waited.

Peter sucked in a few more gasps of air. Then told Jason to do something and go somewhere Jason didn’t even know existed. Must have been a Centuarian curse. Little scrufter had probably learnt it from Yondu.

Jason’s lips thinned. “Very well.” he said crisply. “Let us begin again.” He flicked his wrist. The map spun back into place around them.

Jason paused, gestured towards the tendrils.

“Ah, yes. One last thing.”

  
The tendrils didn’t so much lower the kid down as they did unceremoniously drop him thirty five feet. They pulled him up just short from dashing his brains out against the stone floor, but it’d been a close run thing.

While the tendrils were sorting things out amongst themselves, Jason bent down to the cavern floor and picked up a small sliver of rock. He turned it over in his hand as he neared his offspring. Back at floor level, yanked upright by the twisting tendrils, Peter glared at him, unmitigated fury in every line of his face.

Jason studied him dispassionately.

“You look awful.” he said, and the statement had no pity in it whatsoever. It merely stated the unadorned truth. Peter snarled and spat full in Jason’s face. Jason wiped it off with one hand, then shrugged.

“You are a lot like your mother.” he said calmly. “So it’s fitting that I give you this as well.”

Peter’s snarl hardened as Jason displayed the small, thin rock he was rolling between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

“Wow, a rock,” he gurgled out. “And I didn’t get you anything.”

Jason smiled. “It’s not a rock.” The small shard began to glow with a sickly, blueish-green light, microscopic bubbling growths and tiny spreading tendrils starting to twist and writhe on its surface. Peter stopped snarking and eyed it warily. Jason’s own smirk widened. “Don’t worry.” he said easily. “I know the right nerve centers to target now.” Peter’s eyes went huge and he jerked his head to one side as Jason reached out for him.

“Hell no!” Peter snarled. “I am—not getting—brain cancer from you—today!”

“Peter,” Jason said reproachfully, “come, now. You know it won’t be fatal.”

Peter huffed out a slightly hysterical laugh and jerked his head away to the side again. “That doesn’t make it better, you psychopath! Rrrgh! No! NO! I’m not gonna become a freakin vegetable and help power your stupid takeover plan! NO! Gerroff!”

Jason rolled his eyes and decided the hell with it. He’d plant the tumor first and get the Expansion properly started. Then he could worry about how much Peter could think. The most important thing was to make sure the kid couldn’t throw a wrench into the Expansion. Again.

He stretched out a hand.

And then the sky fell on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	20. Big Damn Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favorite dysfunctional family is reunited. But their job isn't done yet.

For once, Drax wholeheartedly agreed with Rocket’s plan of attack.

  
Even though their plan had been originally to silently scout out the situation before making any sudden moves.

It’d been a hard plan to follow, for all of that. The first thing they’d heard as they made their way down to the planet’s core was Peter shouting something about his mother being disappointed. Their scanners had picked up more of the conversation as they’d drawn nearer. It had been an ugly one, the Jason thing sneering untruths about Peter and his mother. Untruths that clearly deeply wounded Drax’s friend. Drax frowned. He took such matters very seriously. He would have to discuss his displeasure with Jason personally, as soon as he got the chance.

But he did not know when that would be.

The ugly green child had been almost frantic when she told Gamorra how powerful Jason was. As a result, Gamorra had emphasized how important it was that they maintain their cover until absolutely necessary. They’d only have one chance to get Peter and get out again. They couldn’t risk blowing it.

And they hadn’t.

Not even when Jason had crushed Peter’s walkman in front of his eyes.

That had hurt all of them. Drax’s heart had pulsed painfully in his chest, Rocket had sworn over Groot’s heartbroken “IamGroot? IamGROOT!”, and even Gamorra had sucked in a sudden, shocked breath. Then she’d coughed, hard, and refocused their attention on studying the tendrils holding Peter into place.

It’d been so hard. Sometimes holding back instead of attacking was the hardest thing of all.

But they’d managed it. Even when Peter had started screaming that the thing standing in front of him had killed his mother. True, Rocket’s fur had bristled and his eyes had flashed dangerously feral. True, one claw had started to inch towards the guns. Drax had seen that extremely rash movement. And decided to simultaneously reach for the other set of guns on his side of the shuttle. Gamorra’s hands had shot out and slapped their hand and paw away from their respective gun turrets, the motion swift but not unduly harsh.

“NO!” she’d snapped. “We still don’t know how to take this guy out. He’ll just take Peter back and crush us all. We have to think about this.”

“What’s ta think about?” Rocket snarled. “The krutaker KILLED his MOM.” Gamorra’s lips were thin lines. “I heard. But if we want to get Peter away from him, we have to pick the right moment to—“

Then Peter had started laughing. Drax had cocked his head. Peter laughed. Peter laughed a lot. But even though it was certainly Peter laughing, it was definitely a fake laugh. Rocket’s fur stood up along his spine, and even Groot looked distinctly unnerved.

“Uh…is now a good time? Before Quill goes batshit planet-crashing crazy?” Rocket wanted to know. Gamorra’d chewed her lip, still studying the tendrils. “I don’t—argh, I’ve never seen anything like this before, I can’t figure out if they have a weak point or not—“

The small ugly one called Mantis stopped threading her fingers uselessly together and offered a small suggestion. “I could try making Jason sleep.” she said tremulously. Everyone turned and stared at her.

“You can what?” Gamorra asked.

“Try making him sleep.” Mantis repeated. “I’ve…I’ve never done it when he’s this, this angry, or this strong…and I need to be touching his life force somehow…but I could…try…”

Her next words were very small. “…if it is to help Peter…”

Gamorra studied her for a second more, then nodded decisively. “All right. We’ll try that. Mantis, where do you need to be? Can we land somewhere farther back so you’re not as close?”

Mantis bit her lip, studying the terrain before them. She pointed. “Since he started the Expansion, some of his energy has run into the back of the cavern. See?”

Drax craned his neck and strove to look out the small side window of the shuttle. He pointed with one of his knives. “Do you mean the glowing blue lights threading towards the dark caverns beyond?”

Mantis nodded rapidly. Drax roared with approval and readied his weapons. They’d started for the back of the cavern.

But even that plan had changed.

As soon as the ugly green child saw Jason pick something up from the cavern floor, she’d started screaming and pointing down at the two small figures beneath them.  
She’d babbled something unintelligible to Drax and Gamorra, but Rocket was roaring and shoving the controls of their shuttle down into a steep and lethal dive before she’d finished saying the words “infect his nervous system”.

(Drax still did not understand what that meant. Quill was not a habitually nervous person, nor did he have a clear system where he processed that sort of emotion. It usually manifested in either poorly timed jokes in life-threatening situations and/or repeated clearing of his throat around Gamorra. Regardless, Star-Lod did not have a logical procedure or filing cabinet which he used to log those instances of nervousness.)

But Drax did not need to understand what an infected nervous system was. All he needed to see was that his friend was hurting. The expression on Peter Quill’s face showed him that. And that the thing standing in front of his friend—and, conveniently enough, with his back to them—was the one hurting him.

And so Drax felt no qualms at all as Rocket crashed their shuttle directly onto the shining figure’s head.

Rocks and gravel flew outwards in every direction in a sudden burst of gritty particles and choking dust, and the deafening BOOOM noise rocketships always made when smashing people flat echoed around the cavern.

Rocket pumped a paw in victory and let out a fierce whoop of joy, which Groot echoed. Drax gave a booming laugh of approval, and even Gamorra smiled thinly as she popped open the top of the shuttle and jumped out onto the cavern floor. Mantis squeaked defiantly as she followed Gamorra’s lead, and then leapt for the nearest energy tendril running along the dark stone. She fell to her knees and slammed her little palms down hard onto it, screaming as she did so.

“GO THE KRUTAK TO SLEEP!” she yelled, and Drax felt an odd flash of fatherly pride for the fierce little thing. She had spirit. Even if she was hideous. She threw a glance at him over her little shoulder, dark eyes flashing, antennae glowing. “Go help your friend!” she cried. “I will stay here and keep Jason asleep.”

“Scream if you require aid!” Drax yelled at her.

“I will!” she shrilled.

Drax gave her a proud thumbs up. She beamed back at him.

Then Drax heard Quill give a surprised and painful “HUNGH!” as the lashing blue tendrils finally faded, and dropped him the rest of the way to the cavern floor. With their Star-Lord’s typical luck, he landed on his face. Groaning, he laboriously hefted himself first to all fours, then back onto his knees. He put a hand down to the ground as if to try and lever himself up, but stopped almost instantly.

Drax winced sympathetically, lumbered over to his side of the shuttle, and jumped heavily down. With her trademark lethal grace, Gamorra had already reached their comrade’s side. Rocket squawked “Peter!” and sprang out of the pilot’s seat and darted towards his friend, with Groot gripping one of Rocket’s ears. The little twig’s body flew out like a flag, and his ecstatic cry of “IamGroooo—ooooo—oooot!” undulated with Rocket’s bounds.

As he made his way over the rubble, Drax hid a smile as he saw Gamorra anxiously kneeling down by their captain, checking him for wounds. She may have been as tough and as prickly as a kertus bush in the deserts of Eredrn, but Drax was not an idiot. (Unlike Quill.)

He had had the love of his Hovat, if for only too short of a time. He knew what it meant when a woman looked at a man like that. In fact, he’d known for quite some time that Gamorra cared deeply for their captain, and that listening to his music made her think of him and secretly gave her great delight. (Drax had come upon her once as she practiced a simple rocking four-part sequence that, he knew, was not a lethal killing move, but a dance step. He’d promised to keep her secret in strictest confidence. She’d promised to rip out his thorax if he ever told anyone. Then they’d shared an amiable drink together. It was nice to have friends who understood you.)

And as for Quill…that numbskull had been head over heels in love with the green witch ever since she’d tried to shiv his clueless hide in that dive bar on Knowhere.  
But Drax would not say anything. He would not let on that he knew. He would not interfere. He would let their love run its proper course. That was what a true friend would do.

Besides, he had a bet.

It was a tiny bet. Just a friendly one. With Rocket, as to which of the unlikely but still-obvious pair would confess their undying attraction first. His money was on Gamorra. Rocket, sniggering so badly he could barely trade grips with Drax, had stuttered that his money was on Quill. Groot had mumbled a tentative “IamGroot…” and Rocket, rolling his eyes, had promised Groot that that would never happen.

Drax hid a sigh. True love. A beautiful and rare occurrence, almost too precious to be spoken of aloud. Good thing he was so discreet.

“Draz….?” slurred Peter, his eyes still crossing slightly. “Whyer’ you grinnin?”  
Drax straightened up, coughing indignantly. “I am not grinning. I am relieved to find you mostly well.” He drew close to his friend, looked down at him. “You look terrible.” he said bluntly. He studied him again. “But not as terrible as before.” He frowned, puzzled. “How is this possible?”

Peter blinked again and vaguely gestured to the cavern around them. “ ‘z the planet.” he drawled. “…uh…’pparently it’s my dad. An….an’ I regen—regen—ugh, get more better the longer I’m here.” He seemed to lose his train of thought, brought up a hand to scratch absently at the back of his head.

Gamorra whacked the hand aside with one of hers and kept inspecting him for damage. Still kneeling in front of him so that they were eye to eye, she carefully turned his jaw from side to side, inspected his neck for injuries, then ran her fingers briefly down his ribs. She frowned as no obvious wounds displayed themselves. She looked up at him again, her usually impassive eyes wide.

“How…” she said slowly. “You were barely breathing after what the Ravagers did to you. And for heaven’s sake, we just saw you get impaled. Like, ten times.”

Still on his knees, Peter shrugged one shoulder at that. “Lik’ I said, planet dad. I regenerated from the other stuff. And, uh, I guess the energy spikes from him don’…kill me?” He winced, rolled his neck, grunted a little at the crackling pops that emanated from it. “Hurtz’ like a b—uh, bad thing, though.”

He blinked harder. This time his gaze actually focused on her. His eyes widened suddenly and he looked like he was about to laugh. Or cry.

Drax was not sure.

Terrans were exceedingly strange.

“Ga—Gammora?” Peter breathed, and his eyes lit up like twin suns. “You’re…you’re not dead?!” He looked around at all of them, and his eyes did tear up then. He swung his head back around and locked eyes with Gammorra again. “None of you are dead!” he blurted, happily. “Not dead! You guys aren’t dead!!”

Gammorra blinked back, and must have realized she was staring deeply into his eyes as well. “Quill.” she said, trying and failing for her usual even tone. “You’re alive too.” She paused for a moment. “We really didn’t know if you would be.” she confessed, with a little tremor in her voice that even Drax was able to pick up on.

“Uh-huh.” Peter was still staring at her.

“How fast did you regenerate?” she asked, starting a more thorough examination of him again. She checked first one arm, then the other. Poked curiously at his left, then his right shoulder, took one of his hands in hers and turned it around, still staring intently. “Drax is right, by all sense you should be in pieces right now. What—how—“

“Uh-huh…yeah…uh-huh.” Quill said again, still with the same dopey smile. He blinked dreamily as Gamorra held up one of her beringed fingers and moved it across and away from his eyes.

“He’s not tracking the movement.” Gamorra said, turning worriedly to Drax. “And he’s not making sense. Concussion, you think?”

There was a snort from Rocket. “Concussed. Yeah, right.” Then a brief kicking sound. The dreamy look flashed out of Quill’s eyes and he snorted indignantly, whipping his head around. “Ow! Dude!”

Rocket waved a mocking paw up at him, baring his teeth in what should have been a sneer. But the slightly-too bright eyes revealed the concern and relief that lay beneath the caustic surface. “Yer leg’s fine.” he told his friend obnoxiously, giving it a brief kick again. “Despite all odds.”

Peter snorted, giving his old friend a smart-ass smirk. “Nice ta see you too, Mr. Tough-as-Nails.”

Rocket sniffed, turned his head, and spat onto the dark stone floor, in the direction of the thing crushed beneath the shuttle. “Shaddup. Wasn’t worried. Need ya to fix my ship sometimes. Glad you’re back.”

Groot popped his head out from behind Rocket’s shoulder, brown eyes shining. “IAM GROOOOT!” he hollered, and dashed down Rocket’s now-extended arm. Once he reached its tip of the tech genius’ claw, the tiny tree leapt at Quill’s chest, splaying his little limbs out and giving his newly recovered friend a full-body hug as he landed. Quill grinned and placed a careful hand on the little twig’s back.

“Heya, Groot. Good to see you too, buddy.”

Quick as lightning Groot turned round, grabbed hold of Peter’s thumb, and clambered onto his hand. From there he swiftly ran up to Peter’s shoulder, and enthusiastically squeezed one side of his neck. Then, suddenly, he frowned and turned sideways, looking seriously at Rocket.

“IamGroot.” he whispered, and Rocket cocked his head in puzzlement. “Whadda ya mean he’s still sick?” he demanded. “He’s movin and talkin and everythin. Quill, da ya feel sick?”

Quill looked puzzled. “Uh, no. Not anythin’ out of the ordinary.” He rubbed the back of his head again. “Like I said, the planet helped me regenerate. Except for my face hittin’ the rock just now, I guess.”

Rocket snickered. “Nuthin we can do ta help ya with that, pal.”

Groot stomped one baby foot on the slope of Peter’s shoulder, tiny face furrowing in frustrated rage. “IamGROOT.” he insisted. Rocket held up a placating paw. “Fine, fine, have it yer way, kid.”

Rocket leaned forward and shoved against the small of Quill’s back, pushing him relentlessly forward.

He also practically pushed him into Gamorra, who shuffled to the side just in time.

Drax pondered. He rather thought this might be cheating on the bet, but was not sure how.

“Comeon, comeon,” Rocket growled, pulling and shoving at his friend as Gamorra helped raise him up to his feet. “Comeon over ta the shuttle, we gotta check out your vitals. Make sure we ain’t missin nothing.”

Peter waved them off. “I toldya, I’m fine.”

Drax looked doubtful. “You also said your father is a planet.”

Peter nodded matter-of-factly. “Yeah, he is.”

Blank looks from the other guardians of the galaxy. Still clutching Peter’s ear as a handhold, their tiny tree considered this. “IamGroot.” the little tree proclaimed.

Rocket threw out his paws to both sides in consternation. “Whadda mean that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to us? That would be WAY beyond the weirdest thing that has ever happened to us!”

There was a brief pause as they mentally reviewed the last few things that had happened to them.

“There was the—“

“Yeah.”

“And then the—“

“Yeah.”

“And all that was after the—“

“Yeah.”

Rocket blinked, then shrugged. “Fine, whatever. So, your dad is a planet. Specifically, this planet.” He blinked around at the empty cavern. “What’s his deal? He seems like a real jackass.”

Peter frowned and pushed himself slightly apart from them, bringing both hands to his head, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if very tired. “Uhh…” he said thickly. “Uh…it’s kinda hard to explain.” Then he looked at them again. “Jus…just listen, okay?”

Then he told them about the Expansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	21. Forlorn Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes your friends can help you. But sometimes...they can't.

Nova Prime raised her head from her hands. She stared at the comms unit buzzing on her desk. Belatedly, she grabbed for it, and, with shaking fingers, accepted the call.

  
A familiar face glitched onto the screen. Nova Prime felt her heart shake a little at the sight, and only years of practice kept the tears from her eyes as she replied.

“Star-Lord. You’re looking better.” Her voice might have been faintly warmer than usual.

The big grin that reminded her so much of her long-dead grandson filled the screen. The boy in front of her looked faintly confused, then startled, then relieved.

Clearly thinking he was still off-camera, he turned round and hollered offscreen.

  
“Hey, guys! Guys! GUYS! I THINK THE SIGNAL’S WORKING!!”

Then he turned quickly back around, squinted. Saw her. Waved. “Hey there, Nova Prime! Lookin good!” She tried holding back a reciprocal smile and failed. Drat his irrepressible hide. If half the Nova Corps had one quarter of the former Ravager’s sunny charisma, the galaxy would probably implode in a spirit of comraderie. (Or smart-assery. Or strange Terran references no one understood. Or a mix of all of the above.)

She forced her exhausted mind to focus on the topic at hand. “Star-Lord,” she said seriously, “we’re experiencing a crisis. There are—“

“—mysterious growths that suddenly erupted on multiple planets in multiple systems in the last ten minutes?” he said, the light dying rather too suddenly out of his face. She blinked at him. “Yes.”

He swore to himself and rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. “Yeah, uh, ‘about that. Uh…well, see, it’s like this…um…soooo, we’re on a sentient planet, who it turns out is my dad. He’s a Celestial, I guess.”

He didn’t meet her eyes as he continued. “And he’s got this, uh, well, I guess you could call it an evil master-plan—basically he wants to devour each life force in the galaxy, and those growths are how he’s gonna do it.”

Nova Prime nodded, her eyes hard. “We’re organizing a military response for each planet as we speak. What else do you—“  
He squawked at that, the sound temporarily shorting out the thin comms connection. “No!! Whoa, whoa, no, don’t do that!” He stopped, regained control of his voice.

“Uh, that is to say, it won’t do you any good. Don’ waste resources or time. Best we can figure, there’s no way of destroying the growths once they’ve started. And believe me, we’ve tried every explosive device Rocket could think of.”

A faint boom from somewhere behind him confirmed his words.

“An’ it’s just’ not workin.” he reported. “So, we’re gonna try and destroy the planet’s core instead. It’s takin us awhile to get to the core, but the theory is that it once we blow it up, that should cut the signal to those growths and stop em in their tracks.”

“You said the planet is your father. Is he actively trying to continue the process?”

Star-Lord nodded tiredly. “Yeah.” He blinked, rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Uh, we sorta made him sleep, and I think I can hold him back for now if he does wake up, but, uh, yeah, I’d advise immediate and urgent planetary evacuations on all affected planets until we can put this guy down for good.” He looked backwards, away from the screen. As if he was checking to make sure he was alone.

His shoulders slumped as he turned back towards her. He cleared his throat. “First thing you should know is that time flows differently here. It’s slower. A lot slower. A full day here is only ten minutes out where you are. So even if we can keep him asleep for another day, that only gives you about ten more minutes to evacuate multiple planets full of people. But we’ll stay and hold him off as long as we can. Second, I got a good look at his map for this “Expansion” thing. He’s targeting all planets. As in, all of em.”

He took in a deep breath, massaged the back of his neck. “I don’ even know how many people you can save from these spore things, but in case we can’t—uh, in case we…yeah. Get as many people off-world as you can.” He punched in a few numbers, and she saw the message pop up on her screen.

“These are the coordinates for Ego’s planet.” he said dully. “If we can’t destroy him, your best bet is to come here and nuke the sonofabitch from orbit. It’d be most effective if you flew to the center and nuked the core, but once he wakes up it’ll be all but impossible to get anywhere near the center of his planet. It’s too well shielded. But at least now you guys have some idea about what’s goin on.”

Nova Prime nodded, already mentally making plans for multiple planetary evacuations and deciding which fleet she should send to the coordinates he’d given her.

“Yeah.” he said slowly. “Thas…thas’ it, I guess.” He pushed back his chair, started to rise. “Jus’ wanted to let ya know what was…what was happenin. Wanted ta help.”

“Star-Lord.” she said urgently. “Where is a good rendezvous for an infirmary ship? Near your location?”

He looked up at her wearily. She saw the dark circles under his eyes, saw how his usual energy was fading and draining away at the thought of how many lives he’d be unable to save. She narrowed her own eyes at him. “What are good coordinates for rendezvous?” she demanded again. He paused for a second.

“For your crew.” she pressed. “I need an extraction point if we are to help evacuate you and your crew after you succeed.”

The mention of his crew seemed to flick something back on inside him.

“Um….” he said, blinking hard. It was as if thought was becoming quite difficult for him. “Uh, these. Try these.” He tapped his screen a few more times, and Nova Prime grimly memorized the coordinates he’d sent her.

There was no way in hell she was letting her allies fight—or die—alone and unaided.

Not as long as she was in charge of the Nova Corps.

“Thank you.” she said, and she put every ounce of sincerity she possessed into the words. “We’re coming.”

Star-Lord’s smile was bleak and strained. “Thanks.”

Nova Prime’s grip on the small screen tightened. “We are.” she said grimly. “You are not alone.”

Peter Quill tried to smile at that, at least a little. “Yeah. That’s what Gamorra keeps—“

He stopped, suddenly. There was a faint, heavy booming sound, and the screen rocked back and forth a little. He looked behind him at the entrance to the shuttle. She heard him suck in a breath through his teeth.

Then the shaking stopped. All was quiet again.

Then, all at once, the feed began to cut in and out. Flashing lights flared brighter, then dimmed, and screams and curses began to filter their way through from outside the shuttle. Star-Lord roared, activated his face mask, and drew one beaten-looking laser pistol from where it hung on his belt.

“DAMMIT!!” he yelled, and jumped towards the shuttle’s door.

Just as he got there, the door was ripped from its hinges.

Something bright lashed out, wrapped round his waist, and dragged him bodily outside.

As the screen went dark, Nova Prime was already punching in the necessary codes to order a full evacuation of the entire Xandarian empire, and, on an entirely different screen, had started mobilizing a personally picked strike team and medical transport to warp out to Ego’s planet in the next minute and a half.

She just hoped that it would be in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	22. Can't Get It Out Of My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ego is awake. And he is unamused.

Peter had always been a firm believer in looking on the bright side of things. Sure, often there wasn’t a very bright side to certain situations (hey, great, I’ve been abducted by Ravagers and I’m light years away from Earth, and I’m not even old enough to drive a go-cart, wheeeee). True, sometimes things just sucked (hey, kid, your mom has cancer).

But almost all the time, he’d been able to snatch at least a sliver of humor, even sometimes very dark humor, out of otherwise absolutely terrible situations. Call it a coping mechanism if you wanted. He preferred to think of it as an act of defiance against everything and everyone who’d ever wanted him to lay down and die.

Long ago, Peter had decided to fight the darkness with everything he could get his hands on. And, if sometimes the only weapon to hand was a snarky retort, then, by God, that’s what he’d fling at it.

Hell, his mother had been able to do it on her deathbed, poking gentle fun at herself and at anything else she could to keep him smiling.

She’d been pretty awesome.

He figured the least he could do was try and be a little like her.

But.

Today was not one of those times he could be like her.

Today one of those times that everything. just. sucked.

Really.

In all honesty, things could not get worse.

First thing. From the captain he’d lived with most of his life, he’d gotten the worst beating of his life. Truth be told, it’d almost taken his life. (He hadn’t told the team, or Mantis, or anyone, really, but four days sleeping and getting pumped full of planet energy may have fixed the physical damage, but blazing hell did he still hurt. Literally. Most of his chest still felt like it was on fire, his shoulder and leg still felt like they’d been kicked out of place, and there was an awful, nagging ache in the back of his head that wouldn’t go away. No matter how hard he rubbed at it. And all that pain made him so damn _tired_. And this was only the first thing.)

Second thing. He’d finally come face to face with his long-lost space dad. Who, it turned out, was not only a planet but also an absolute homicidal maniac. (Awesome.)

Third thing. His walkman was gone. (True, impending universal annihilation and excruciating bodily pain seemed a little more important, but come on. His mom had given that to him, and those tunes were the closest he’d ever get to hearing her voice again. And now they were gone. Just like her.)

Fourth. JASON HAD MURDERED HIS MOTHER.

Fifth. JASON WAS TRYING TO KILL HIS FRIENDS. ALONG WITH THE ENTIRE GALAXY. AND WANTED TO USE PETER AS A BATTERY TO DO IT.

And, finally, sixth: THERE WAS NOTHING PETER COULD DO TO STOP HIM.

Literally.

Peter’d tried.

God, had he tried.

But Jason’d slapped him down the way a titan would crush an insect. Well. If the titan had dragged the insect out of a shuttle, knocked it clear across the cavern, and then pinned it to the cold stone so that his feet couldn’t even touch the ground. Peter tried to breathe. It was hard, with an energy tendril two and a half feet wide spearing him straight through the chest. He felt just like a bug on a card.

Hey, for once his analogy wasn’t half bad.

“PETER!!” Gamorra’s voice, away to his left, screaming, frantic. “PETER!” Drax’s deep bellow joined her cries, then Rocket’s bestial snarling and Mantis’ thin wailing joined in, their voices rising into an awful chorus of terror.

Worst part was, they weren’t scared for themselves.

They were scared for him.

Which was stupid, cuz they were the ones who could die here, die right here, right now, and there’d be absolutely nothing he could do to stop it—

He winced, tried turning his head to see them. They sounded so close. He wanted to see if he could help them.

Can’t talk. Can’t move. Can’t really see.

Oh, great. There was Jason, right on time. Striding into his blurry line of vision. Smiling back at him. The sentient planet’s head was still healing from the last shot Peter’d been able to make. You know, before the tendril had smashed him hard into the unyielding stone wall. After it’d done that, Jason had come up and jammed a little glowing rock shard into the back of his son’s neck. Everything had gone dark then. When the world returned, Peter’d found himself, inexplicably, still upright.

Which was strange. After Jason’d grabbed him, and after his head hurt so bad, the world had all twisted to one side, and stayed there for what seemed the longest time. But hey, at least he was standing now. He wasn’t being used as a—

—as a—

His chest gave a sudden, painful jerk. He felt energy he didn’t know he had flowing out of him. Just underneath his line of sight, something glowing blue and white sent flickering and dancing shadows racing along the walls. Crap. The tendril.

No. Nonono.

—he _was_ being used—

—he was being used as a—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, _no_.

Jason was asking if he was willing to help yet, his voice strange and echoey. Peter tried to tell him what he could do with that offer.

But nothing came out.

The screams from his friends got louder, rattling around inside his skull. Peter couldn’t think. He tried shaking his head instead, nobly deciding to sacrifice snark for brevity.

Nothing happened. He couldn’t move.

Peter tried twitching a finger. Nothing. He could barely even _blink_ , now. His breathing hitched, started coming faster and faster. His head was screaming, and his chest _hurt_.

Jason’s smile widened. He asked if Peter wanted to see his friends before they got started. Peter tried looking for himself. Couldn’t do that either.

Jason reached out, grabbed Peter’s chin in a vice-like grip, then turned it forcibly to the left, just enough so that Peter could see his friends. And they could see him.

Cages. Jason’d trapped them in cages.

Well. One big cage, actually. White-hot ribbons of light coiled and curled around them, arching over their heads and twining together in a woven net of light that, even as Peter watched, shrank in upon itself. 

One of the tiny glowing tendrils brushed against the back of Mantis’ hand. There was a nasty hissing sound that reached through even Peter’s dulled hearing. The girl screamed and fell back, clutching her burned hand to her chest as she sobbed. Drax reached forward, a fierce snarl rippling over his features, and gathered Mantis in close, shielding her with his body, pulling her away from the lethally dancing lights.

The cage shuddered, then darted inwards. The roiling strands of energy stopped just short of Mantis’ trembling foot. On the other side of Drax, Rocket’s face twisted as another flare sliced through the tip of one ear. Gamorra tried desperately pulling him in closer to her, but Rocket shoved little Groot between them and braced himself over her back instead, visibly howling as the heat from the cage started to sear into his already scarred back.

Over Rocket’s shaking shoulder, Gamorra’s green eyes caught his.

And she was _scared_.

 _Gamorra_ was _scared_.

Peter felt something beating in the back of his brain, fighting to get loose before it ripped his skull apart. He tried to scream, to yell, to curse. But no sound made it out.

  
Jason yanked Peter’s chin back towards him and clearly enunciated each word so that Peter would understand it.

“You will feel them die.”

Peter stared back, trying with all his might to do something, even if it was only to blink— **No, no, nonononono—**

**\--it’s not gonna end like this, it’s not, it’s not, it’s _not_ —**

“It will not take long.”

  
**Shut up shut up shut _up_ —**

  
“Perhaps a quarter of an hour. At most.”

Peter tried to swallow. Found he couldn’t even do that. Jason snorted and released his chin. He turned and started walking away, back towards the core.

Then Peter had an idea.

Maybe not a very intelligent idea, but an idea nonetheless. He forced himself to focus, and threw his next thought directly at Jason’s retreating back.

**HEY. JACKASS.**

Jason stopped, whipped round, eyes narrowed. If he could have, Peter would have sighed in relief. But he couldn’t. All he could do was this. But by God was he going to do this right. He threw his thoughts at Jason again, visualizing the words hitting the sentient planet like angry dodgeballs thrown at a playground bully.

**LET EM GO**

Jason smiled indulgently. He shook his head condescendingly.

Peter dialed up his mental volume. As he understood it, he actually had a pretty strong mental presence. He’d walked into a room full of telepaths once, and just the sheer force of his charisma had been enough to make some of them slump over unconscious in their seats. (Admittedly he had been arguing with Yondu at the time, and some of the language he’d been using would not have made his mother proud.)

But still.

It seemed like Jason got distracted by annoying things.

And if Peter had one superpower, it was being annoying. Drax had his knives and harder-to-kill-than-thou attitude, Gamorra was cybernetically enhanced and a total badass, Rocket was the tech genius who could build a bomb with a flashlight and a roll of duct tape, and Groot just turned everyone with half a soul into a big pile of goo when they were around him.

And Peter?

He was _obnoxious_.

Their plan-book said so. Among their plans there was a “Superpowers List”, scribbled on some old bar napkins and stuffed in the gauntlet compartment of the Milano. (Underneath half a recipe for this super good cocktail that Peter’d never been able to fully reproduce.)

Anyway.

Right now the only thing standing between his friends’ (oh, and the galaxy’s) complete and utter annihilation was one certified smartass.

Peter readied himself. Then got started in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	23. It's Time To See What I Can Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter does his best to distract Ego. Who can't seem to let his son's disobedience go.

Over in the cage, Mantis cracked one eye open. From her curled up position, she looked up at Drax, then over at Gamorra.

“What is Peter doing?!” she cried out, over the hum and buzz of the bars around them.

“Wha?” Rocket rasped. His voice was so strained Mantis could barely hear him. With difficulty, Gamorra finished reaching over her shoulder, then tugged him around and under her. His claws scratched slightly on her sword hilt, tugging for purchase and fighting to stay in place, trying to protect her, but she finished dragging him around and shielded his shivering form from the burning bars with her own body anyway. From the safest position in the middle of the crush and mess of bodies,

Groot wailed and stretched out his little hands towards Rocket. “…rroooot.” he sobbed, and latched himself onto Rocket’s neck with a strength both adorable and slightly worrying.

Rocket huffed out a pained breath, lying curled up on the ground just underneath Gamorra. “Nuthin but blisters, buddy. ‘m fine.” He flicked one eye open painfully, looked out past the bars. “Quill, on the other hand…”

“But what is Peter doing?” Mantis cried again. “He is going to make Jason angry!”

“I don’t—think Jason can—get—any more—pissed off.” Gamorra panted. The energy around them was burning their lives away, draining it out and sucking them dry.

Mantis shot her an apprehensive look. “I do not know about that…listen!” Her antennae flickered briefly, sending forth a strange snatch of sound. It was…it was Peter’s voice. And he was…

“Ain’t…” Rocket said weakly. “Ain’t that the one Earth song that made it out here on that fluke signal? They were playin it…in that bar…in Knowhere…and…and everywhere else, for forever, it seemed like…”

Drax’s voice, gritted but clear. “Indeed it is.”

“Oh, no.” Gamorra said, her voice muffled, her eyes wide. “Oh, no, no he is not.”

“IamGroot.” the little twig whispered, eyes wide and shining as he peeked out between the bars at his hero.

Jason cracked his neck, gritted his teeth, and tried to clear his mind. He needed his full concentration for the Expansion, dammit. And even though the kid—

**LET EM GO**  
**LET EM GO**

—argh, didn’t—

**DON’T HOLD EM HERE ANYMORE**  
**LET EM GO**

-didn’t have the strength or the—

**LET EM GO**

—have the physical ability to throw a wrench in the Expansion anymore, he—

**TURN AROUND AND OPEN THAT DOOR**

—damn well was—

—WAIT, was the kid actually now going “ **dadadum, dadadum** ,” as if he was filling in for some sort of instrumental interlude? Jason had a sudden flashback of Meredith doing the same thing when she couldn’t remember the words to a song. Or when there was a “just beautiful” instrumental swell, and she still wanted to participate in the song and couldn’t just wait for the next verse.

Jason gritted his teeth. This was going to—no. No. No. The kid was trying to distract him. The kid was just—

**ITS FUNNY HOW SOME DISTANCE**  
**MAKES YOUR STUPID PLAN SEEM SMALL**  
**AND THE FACT THAT YOURE A JACKASS**  
**DOESNT BOTHER ME AT ALLLLL**

_**—GODSDAMMIT WHAT WAS THAT SONG?!!—THE DAMN TUNE WASN’T LEAVING HIS HEAD—** _

**YOURE A JERK**  
**AND YOU’RE STAYIN THAT WAAAY**  
**LET MY FRIGGIN FRIENDS GO**  
**YOULL HEAR THIS AGAIN CUZ I’M HERE ALL DAY.**

The kid’s mental attack faded then, seeming to have expended itself in the last defiant line. For the briefest moment, there was a blessed silence in the cavern. Jason felt his shoulders relax, tension he didn’t know he had been storing slipping away. The cage around the soon-to-be-distant-problems buzzed. His blasted offspring was blessedly silent. Around him, the Expansion waited to be completed.

He took in a deep breath.

And then Peter started again, his mental yelling causing the psychic equivalent of an earthquake to rattle Jason’s already quivering nerves.

**ONE BAJILLION BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL—**

Jason’s eyes shot open, bright and icy blue.

In half a second, he’d shot back over to where Quill hung, half-curled over the spiking tendril, pinned and helpless against the wall.

Back in the cage, Rocket swallowed hard. (As well as he could, his mouth felt like a krutakin’ desert.) He was suddenly and deeply afraid for his friend. Abruptly smiling malicious men of power were never good. Not in his experience, anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things--First, see what I did there in the beginning note? (laughs much too hard at such a simple joke)  
> Second, the odds of Frozen's "Let It Go" having made it out to the farthest reaches of the galaxy are, in fact, higher than 12 percent. Absolutely.  
> Third, reviews are, as always, received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :)


	24. Mind Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst kind of torment isn't physical.

Hey, he’d gotten Jason’s attention again. That had to be good, right?

The awful lance of pain running through him increased suddenly, carving and burning its way through the very center of his being.

Eugh, kay, maybe not such a good thing.

He forced himself not to look over Jason’s shoulder at the cage, forced himself not to hope that maybe one of his friends could now break free and get outta this hellhole.

Can’t look, can’t think. Can’t know. Or Jason’ll know too.

Jason’s eyes were completely dark now. The twisting agony in Peter’s chest and head increased. It felt as if the tendril piercing through his sternum had grown a bunch of angry spikes, and then the spikes had decided to play tug of war across his rib cage. There also seemed to be a nail gun punching holes in the base of his skull. (To the beat of “Livin On A Prayer”, in fact. Which was just wrong.)

“I told you not to distract me.”

 _Which is exactly why I did it, **jackass**_ , his mouth wanted to say but couldn’t.

“But maybe…you’ll listen to her.”

Listen to who? Who was her?

  
A form started taking shape next to Jason. Blue white light glowed from the center of it. Then the light started to shift and spin, faster and faster and faster, until Peter’s eyes were blinded and he had to shut them tight against the glare.

When he opened them again, he found himself staring into the brilliant blue eyes of his mother. At her smile. At the fond look he remembered so well, and missed so much.

Peter felt his heart stutter. He blinked, once, twice, three times. Then, with an enormous effort of will, he squeezed his eyes tight shut.

“Oh, _Peter_.” his mother’s voice said. For a second, he almost made himself believe it was her voice. He’d missed it so bad, and had wanted to hear it again for so long—but it wasn’t her voice. It wasn’t.

It was close.

But there was something just a little bit off. It was just a little too perfectly even for it to be hers. The way the face and the eyes weren’t hers. They looked almost right. He remembered her down to the last detail. Her blue eyes were shining, and her face, framed by the golden, flowing curls she’d had before the cancer took them, was flawless, shining, and perfect.

But it wasn’t his mom.

His mom had been real.

His mom had been human. Absolutely irreplaceable.

And this…this was a plastic doll spun up by Jason to distract Peter. To hurt him.

Well, it wasn’t gonna work—

“Peter, darling, what’s wrong?”

Oh, gods, her voice. Her _voice_ was so _close_. All he had to do was open his eyes and—and she’d be there—and everything could be okay--

—she’d figure something out, she always had a plan—he didn’t have to be scared or hurt anymore—she’d be there—she’d help him and his friends and—

—all he had to do was open his eyes and—

—NO—

—itwasn’ther itwasn’ther itwasn’ther—itwasn’t itwasn’t _itwasn’t_ —

“Peter,” her voice broke a little, the way it had when he hadn’t taken her hand—“Peter, please, baby, look at me. Let me help you.”

He didn’t remember when he’d started crying. But he had.

“.. _stoppit_ …” he found himself whispering, and he hated himself for this, for asking Jason for _anything_. Peter hated himself so much right now for being so _weak_ and so _stupid_ , but this trick, _this_ ploy was the cruelest one of all.

Cold-blooded torture, Peter could take. Beatings? Same. Excruciating agony? Not a great way to spend his time, but he could deal. He was tough. That kind of pain he could shrug off with a smirk and some snark.

But _this_? He’d rather have downed ten shots of glass shards than _this_.

Hearing something _pretend_ to want to help him. Hearing it offer aid and safety and relief, and all the thousand other things he definitely was never going to get here.

Worse, to have it come from _her_.

—No, Peter, you idiot, it’s something that just looks and sounds like her—

—so much like her—

—it’s isn’t her, it isn’t her, it isn’t her, you were there you saw her _die_ —

—oh, God, the thing in front of him was _pretending_ to be his _mom_ —

—it was just _pretending_ to care, to love him, pretending that she—ngh, _it_ —believed with all her soul that he was a wonderful son, and not the jackass wanna-be-hero-but-really-just-a-screwup that he really, actually was.

Worst part of the whole thing was, he’d _had_ a mom like that. She’d existed. She’d been real. Long ago. But he hadn’t helped her when she needed him most. She’d died before he could show her how much he loved her, and he’d never ever _ever_ be able to make that right. She was _gone_ , and _dead_ , and buried on a planet lightyears away from where he now was.

Being brutally reminded of the aching void inside him made Peter’s whole world spin sickeningly around on its wobbly axis. He didn’t _want_ her to be dead. He didn’t want her to be _not_ here.

But it was true. He couldn’t forget that. He couldn’t. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he slipped and believed this thing was his mom—all he knew was that it wouldn’t be good—but, just for a second, he’d doubted himself. He’d felt his grip on reality shift and slide. Just for a second, he’d let himself hope that this was—

—he just, he missed her so much and—

—NO—

—this wasn’t her—it REALLY WASN’T—

“.. _please,_ stoppit.” he asked again. His voice was weak and shaking.

Jason said nothing. Peter could practically see the smirk on his face. Peter kept his own eyes tight shut. His gut twisted with awful pain that was not at all physical, and he was suddenly very afraid he was going to be sick.

“Peter,” his mother’s voice said again, frightened now, “ _Baby_ , what’s _wrong_? Why won’t you look at me?”

“P—puh—please,” Peter said again, hating how his voice wobbled and cracked in the middle of the word. “Stoppit, please, stoppit—this isn’t—she isn’t real, okay, she’s not real, she’s not—“

He started in surprise as soft, warm fingers touched his face, brushed lightly over his forehead. They smoothed back his hair, caught and freed the sweaty, clinging strands hanging over and down into his eyes. They moved gently down the side of his face, stroked away sweat and tears and dirt and blood. Just the way she used to, dozens of years ago and hundreds of star systems away. Peter’s wet eyes shot open at the familiar-but-still-not-hers-touch, and he half-tried to get away.  
His mother’s deep blue eyes stared worriedly into his own. But they weren’t hers. Were they? No, they weren’t. No, they weren’t. No, they—he wanted them to be, but they weren’t—were they—no—

“Baby, you’re _hurting_ , let me _help_ you.”

Oh.

Oh, _God_. This was the absolute _worst_.

Peter whimpered. The-thing-that-totally-wasn’t-his-mother shushed him, wiped away the tears that were welling out of his eyes. He tried looking away, moving away, couldn’t.

“Stoppit.” Peter choked out again, trying to see Jason through the haze clouding his vision. “Stoppit, please—”

Not-Mom looked hurt at that, her eyes widening, wounded, the way he’d last seen them in life. Back in that horrible hospital room, when he hadn’t taken her outstretched hand.

And _now_ , _here_ , when he needed her comfort the most he’d _ever_ needed it, (which of course is why Jason had done this, the bastard)…the-thing-that-probably-wasn’t-Mom hesitated. Pulled her own hand back, unsure.

“ _Peter…_ ” she said, her own voice breaking with hurt and confused bewilderment.

Oh, God.

The way she’d said his name—that sad, broken, fading voice—cut straight through his heart.

That last night—that last moment with her in the hospital—had never, ever, _ever_  left the deepest part of his nightmares. No matter how fast or how far he flew in the Milano, no matter how many scores he made, no matter how many people he screwed over, cheated, or saved, the sound of his mother’s dying—and denied—request threaded through his darkest dreams.

And here it was again. 

He was her _world_. And he was _hurting_ her, _refusing_ her.

 ** _Again_**.

And that was when Peter Quill’s mind snapped.

He didn’t know exactly what he screamed or sobbed, or how long he did it, but he knew with a distant part of his brain that he had. Then it was over, and Peter gulped, hard, regaining some semblance of control.

He totally had this under control. Right? Right. He just had to warn her. Get his mom and his friends out of there before—

“—Muh—Mom.” he gasped, trying to figure out a way to get off this weird energy spike thing or whatever—

—whatever this thing was, that, for no good reason, was sticking out of his chest—and was glowing brighter every second—“Mom, you gotta, uh, you gotta run, okay, run away—he’s, he’s gonna—he’s gonna hurt—gonna hurt you, Mom—“

His mother’s smile was back now. She smiled warmly at him, cupping one side of his face, pushing his hair back and behind one ear. “No no no, my little Star-Lord. Jason would never hurt me.”

Peter tried to struggle harder now, feeling as if he was missing something important. “No, Mom, no, you gotta, you gotta—“

He remembered it now. “He killed you Mom, he killed you—you gotta run away, now, or it’ll be too—“

His mother was smiling even more broadly. Her glowing blue eyes shone, and both hands cradled his face now. Her thumbs wiped away the steady tears that were rolling, unchecked, down his face and dripping down onto the dirty stone floor.

“No, darling.” she soothed. “Jason didn’t kill me.” Her smile widened. “You did.”

Peter stared at her, horrified. She gave him a regretful nod.

“I—I—“ he tried. His brain shut down. His mind stopped working.

“I—no, Mom, n-no, I—I—“

“Ssssssshhhhhh.” she hushed, gently. “Everything is all right now. Everything is just fine. Hush…”

Then there was sudden, awful pressure on both sides of his head.

For a long, horrible second, Peter couldn’t breathe. Then he screamed out the rest of the air that was in his lungs, because his mom’s soothing murmur had almost instantly altered pitch and tone, deepened and given a sudden, ugly chuckle that shattered into a ravenous-sounding roar—

—and her face right in front of his eyes had twisted into something stretched and awful and something he’d never seen before—

—but then it didn’t matter because—

—because now he couldn’t see at all.

All there was was pain. No, wait a second. Very faintly, off in the distance, he could hear other voices screaming his name, over and over and over again. That was weird, they sounded almost as terrified and disoriented as he was.

But Peter couldn’t remember who they were.

He didn’t remember how he got here.

He didn’t remember anything.

Well, he knew one thing. He knew his mom was dead. And that it was his fault. Distantly, he realized he really wished he were dead as well. So he wouldn’t have to hurt this much anymore.

But that would never happen. He didn’t remember why, but he did remember he could never die.

He’d be stuck like this forever.

And he’d never see his mom—his real mom—again.

But…

She probably didn’t want to see him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	25. Keep Holdin On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not looking so good. Baby Groot knows this. He wants to do something about it.

Groot howled in rage at the swaying, laughing Bad Thing above them, at the Bad Thing that was making Peter cry and scream for his mommy.

Groot did not know what the Bad Thing was, exactly, but he knew it was Bad because it had pretended to look nice, and good, and had acted like it wanted to help Peter, but it did NOT.

Groot hated the Bad Thing with every inch of his pint-sized body not because it was different than them but because it had LIED to Peter, and then _hurt him_.

  
Which was not fair because Peter was still very sick but did not know it, and now this Bad Thing had hurt him even worse.

And it was _laughing_ about it!

Just how bad could a Bad Thing be? Groot wondered. Then decided that this was, in fact, a Very Bad Thing.

And Groot did not like Very Bad Things.

Groot told it so, hoping that it would stop laughing and hurting Peter, and turn around and fight him instead.

“IAMGROOOOOT!” he roared at it, bunching his fists and putting them up in a fighting stance Peter had taught him.

It did not listen.

Groot steamed, feeling anger start to shake through his entire body. He would get out of here. And he would MAKE it listen.

Groot knew he was littler than he had been before, but once he was out of this Bad Cage, he would grow his arm vines as much as he could and he’d grab that fake thing and swing it _around_ and _up_ and _down_ and _around_ and then _smash it really hard_ _onto the ground_.

Then he’d tell Rocket to shoot it to pieces, and Drax would jump at it with his knives, and Groot could run and get Gamorra her sword so she could be awesome too, and even Mantis could probably help at least kick the Very Bad Thing away from Peter.

Groot screamed his plan to his teammates, but his voice was small and lost between Peter’s screams and the barrage of noise swelling out of the steadily shrinking prison.

Then he saw an opening and darted towards it. A big paw swiped in front of him, and Groot yelled as it closed around his chest and his legs, yanking him back from the hissing tendrils of light.

  
“ _No_ , Groot!” Rocket gasped, his voice hoarse and harsh from fear. “Don’ go there, you’ll hurt yerself!” The white bars of the cage vanished from Groot’s vision as Rocket turned him away from them and drew him close. “It‘ll burn ya.” Rocket mumbled. “ ’n’t have that.”

Groot felt his own face twist in fury, and he struck wildly at the paw that held him back, yelling and screaming “I!AM!GROOOOT!IAMGROOTIAMGROOT!” When Rocket spoke next, his voice was muffled. “ ‘wanna help ‘im too, Groot—but—“

“IamGroot.” Groot said nastily. Rocket coughed, the sound harsh and hard in his chest.

“No, thiz time I really mean it, I do wanna help him…” He wheezed.

Groot instantly felt his heart sink. “I—I—IamGroot!” he sobbed, and hugged Rocket’s shaking claw tightly. His friend coughed again and patted Groot’s tiny shoulder comfortingly with his other paw. “‘z okay, buddy.” he said blearily. “I know you’re…uh, upset…jus’ wanna make sure…you’re okay…”

Groot chanced a quick glance up and around at his friends. Rocket was hurt and scared. Gamorra was scared and tired. Drax was angry and tired and scared. Mantis was really, really scared. And Groot…

Well. Groot was very angry with the Very Bad Thing. And the Very Bad Man controlling the Very Bad Thing.

Because they were _hurting_ Peter and the rest of his friends. And now the big map was up all around them, and the Bad Blue Lights were starting to shine again.

When they’d found Peter the first time, he’d explained how they were Very Bad Lights.

And how they would hurt the whole galaxy if they got any bigger.

How his dad—humph, some dad—wanted to use Peter as a battery to do it.

Peter had said—and his eyes had been very sad—that his dad was a Very Bad Man.

Groot screwed his face up, willing himself not to cry. It wasn’t _fair_. He knew life wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t fair to the Guardians most days, even though they were (mostly) good guys who saved the galaxy without even so much as a “thank you” a lot of the time.

But this really wasn’t fair.

They’d been so _close_.

Groot had found a small crack in the thick mineral shield around the planet’s core. Rocket had amplified the shuttles’ small defense guns with modified ammunition. While Drax and Gamorra’d manned the gun turrets and shot at the fault line, Peter had called Nova Prime to try and get help. Mantis had been keeping the Very Bad Man asleep. Until he’d done something to her, knocked her out so he would have more energy again. Rocket thought the planet must have caused a rock to fall on her head when the other Guardians were not looking. Groot did not know how she’d been hurt, but he could feel her pain and her fear all the same.

The insect girl was very brave. He would have to tell her sometime. 

But there might not be a next time. Because the Very Bad Man had crushed them all into this prison, and had pinned Peter up against the wall and made the Very Bad Thing do something to his brain. And now the Very Bad Man was trying to make the Very Bad Lights grow again.

Groot kept his face screwed up so he would stay brave, and glared out again. First he glared to his left, at the Very Bad Man, who was studying his stupid stupid map with a vexed frown on his face, and then he glared to his right, where the Very Bad Thing was still hurting Peter.

“IamGroot!” he roared again. “IamGroot! IamGroot! I! AM! GROOT!”

Rocket gave a half-sigh that cut off as a rasp. “It ain’t his mom, Groot.” he said weakly. “It jus’ looks like her. Petey’s mom wouldn’t…wouldn’t do that…to ‘im.” He tried to say more, but his voice trailed off. His gaze started to drift into the distance, as if seeing something past Groot’s tiny shoulder. Groot grabbed the nearest paw and squeezed it, coaxingly, at first, then harder, desperately trying to make Rocket pay attention to him again.

Rocket groaned and focused on him. He looked hurt. He was hurt. All of them were hurt.

And Groot was too little to do anything about it.

Groot felt his face began to crumple and he began to cry in earnest, hot tears leaking out of his eyes and spilling down his aching face. “I—am—Gr—Groot.” he whimpered, hanging on tight to Rocket’s paw. “I—I—am—am—am—Groooot.”

Rocket pulled him in tighter. “Not gonna happen while I’m here.” he said roughly. “We’re all gonna git outta this. Petey too. You ‘eard him, he said those energy beams hurt ‘im a lot but they ain’t gonna kill im. I bet we can get that dast rock thing outta his ‘ead too, no trouble atall.” Rocket raised his head a little, stared towards the core. “Jus…just gotta get outta this stupid energy ball and…an’ blow up the moon’s core…an’ then get outta here before it…blows us up too. Pieceacake.”

Groot nodded. This seemed like more of a plan than they usually had. Then a new thought struck him. He sniffled, raised a teary face toward’s his friend’s striped one.

“IamGroot?”

Rocket blinked, shook his head. Once, twice. “Whadda mean how do we save Quill once we’re out?” His voice rose several pitches as his sentence progressed. Groot gulped back another sob. “IamGroot.” he said plaintively. Rocket’s eyes widened and he pressed a bloody claw to his own forehead. “Aaaarggh. Guys.” he said, voice rough with fatigue. “Assuming we get out of here alive and save the galaxy…we’re gonna have a problem. Another problem,” he amended, as three other pairs of tired eyes turned towards him.

Then Groot’s little voice cut him off. “IamGroot! IamGroot!’ he said, pointing urgently towards Peter, the only one still outside the circle.

“Wha?” Rocket asked, craning his head to see. “Whas’ happenin?”

“IamGROOO—“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	26. Light In The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't hurt Meredith Quill's son. Just...don't.

The voice of his not-Mom sounded again in Peter’s head. Its voice was harsh and twisted, now, only the faintest echo of his mother’s voice even trying to be heard anymore.

  
_—still—over soon—_

  
Peter tried shaking his head, the easiest, smallest gesture of denial. Couldn’t even do that. Every thought, every movement, felt like glass splinters shredding through his mind.

  
_—still—_

  
_—hold still—_

  
_—over soon—_

  
**_Define “soon”, jackass_** , he managed, and then briefly lost consciousness as the thing’s fury at his continued defiance momentarily overwhelmed its control. Then a distant, sharp command from Jason, more felt than heard, and the thing wearing his mother’s face and trying to mimic her voice snarled and pulled back from its assault on his mind. Peter blinked sluggishly. It was the only movement available to him now.

Oh. The thing was forcing him to look directly at it.

Frankly, Peter rather preferred temporary, pain-induced blindness.

The thing must have sensed what he was thinking, because it snarled and its fingernails—oh hey it had energy tendrils as fingernails, because apparently _that_ was a thing now—twisted into his temples and grew a few centimeters.

Just because they were only made of living energy didn’t mean they didn’t hurt like a—

“Stupid child.” the thing half-wearing Meredith Quill’s form sneered. “To be so easily snared.” It waited for an answer it could not get.

The thing grinned too widely and went on. “You thought she could come. You hoped she would come. Didn’t you.”

Peter felt it jerk his head up and down in a rough parody of a nod.

It laughed. “But did she?”

Back and forth no.

Ugh, what a JACKASS. His brain—what was left of it—sloshed around, and the rest of him woozily tried to make sense of what was happening. But honestly…most of him just seemed to be hanging out in a numb stasis field, watching all this happen to someone else. Wincing in sympathetic pain, sure, but still seeing it happen to some other poor schumuck that just looked a lot like Peter.

(This was probably a bad sign regarding either his mental or his physical health, or both. Buuuut since he’d always ignored the former and flown by the seat of his pants with the latter, he figured two minutes from probable brain death was too late to try and concern himself with them now.)

The very small part of him still feeling and tracking all this hoped he’d throw up all over the creature’s front. But with his luck, he’d probably end up getting it all over himself.

The thing laughed in his face now. “Awww, is he scared? Some Guardian of the Galaxy you turned out to be. Wittle itty bitty Star-Prince.”

A crack of sound, almost too low to hear. Then another voice, sharp and angry.

“It’s pronounced _Star-Lord_.” it snapped.

A sudden fierce rush of energy. The thing sneering in Peter’s face was abruptly—well, gone. It was just gone. As if it’d been blinked—or smashed—out of existence.

No. No, it wasn’t gone. It was back. Back in front of him _again_ , gently taking hold of his face _again_ , carefully lifting it up so that the tear-studded blue eyes looked into his own _again_.

Aw, _hell_.

  
Somewhere, somewhere deep inside him, Peter found his voice. The temporary reprieve had at least given him enough energy to whisper. Having this whole shtick happen once was bad enough. But he was damned if he let it do it again without doing something about it.

  
“You’re not her.” he choked out, his voice weak and rough and ragged. “You’re not, stop pretendin to be.”

  
The thing swallowed, blinked hard. It wasn’t hurting him anymore. But it was going to. He just knew it.

“Oh, Peter.” it said, its own voice cracking. Peter blinked back tears of his own. “You’re not her. You’re not. Go away.”

“Baby, I—“

“No!” he snarled, getting really angry now. “Mom’s gone, okay? You’re just—you’re not her, you’re a friggin bad copy, and you better stop preten—“

He broke off, something from his blurred vision making it through to his brain.

This new thing had a scar. It had a scar peeking out from behind its ear. The scar from when she’d fallen and cut her head open on the old coffee table in their living room. It’d been the first time he’d seen something was wrong, that she was sick.

The thing that’d been hurting him hadn’t had it before.

Jason hadn’t known about the scar. He couldn’t have. So his copy hadn’t had it.

Which meant…this was…she was…

“Mom?” he said, his voice very small and quavery. _“M—Mom?”_

She smiled at him through her tears. “Yes, my little Star-Lord. It’s me, it really is me. I’m here. It’s me.”

He tried reaching for her, found he couldn’t. Frickin irony. “Mom—I’m, I’m sorry, Mom—I’m really, really sorry—I’m so sorry—“

For the briefest second, she looked puzzled. Then she shook her head vigorously. “Oh, that last night in the hospital. Don’t be.”

“But—but I—“

“—was a kid. And frightened and sad.” She kissed him on the forehead. “I knew that. And,” she said, bringing his chin up just a little, the way she always had to make sure he could see the smiling truth in her eyes, “I know you love me. And you know I love you. Right?”

Peter gulped and nodded, feeling something deep and jagged inside his heart click back into place. She smiled at him, and he started to smile back at her.

Then the energy tendril spearing his chest pulsed, and he felt his chin jerk upwards and his head slammed smack against the wall behind him. Which was not cool, because that meant he couldn’t see his Mom, and he really wanted to keep looking at her, dammit.

He heard her snarl an old Southern imprecation under her breath. “Sugar-honey-iced- _tea_.” she spat. He felt her slip a cool hand behind his neck, her fingers curling up against the base of his skull. Then she pressed her other palm against his forehead.

“Peter, baby, this is gonna hurt for a little bit. But then you’ll feel better, okay?”

He nodded as much as he could. It was a pretty tiny nod. But it hurt too much to talk.

There was a sudden sharp pain, a starburst of writhing, twisting hurt that exploded across his mind from the base of his skull. The only reason he didn’t holler was because he didn’t have any energy left.

Gradually, the white-hot agony receded, and he was able to see again. He raised his head, blinked hard, and squinted at his mom. She was crushing something in one fist, glaring at it, her eyes fierce as fire. Then she dropped it in disgust and turned back to him, eyes searching his face.

“Wha was that?” he croaked.

She kissed his forehead again. “The seed Jason put in your brain.” She stroked the back of his head again, her forehead puckering a little in concern. “It wasn’t large. I got it out before it did much damage. The planet’s energy should be healing you as we speak. But how do you feel?”

He started to say “Fine”, but her Mom look was still strong and he didn’t really want to lie to her anyway.

“Better.” he managed, and then couldn’t keep a grin off his face. “I mean, whoa. You just took out a brain tumor and killed it by hand. That’s…that’s pretty badass, Mom.”

His mother smiled with pleasure, then winked at him. “Well, it’s just a good thing Jason’s still distracted trying to unfreeze his Expansion. He’s so absorbed in it he didn’t see me come in. Or—“ her smile was a little sharper now. “—see what I _did_ to that _copy_ that was _torturing_ you.”

Peter considered this. Now that he could move his neck again, he dimly saw a vague shape crushed on the ground off to the side. He decided not to look very closely. His stomach was still pretty floppy. And he really didn’t want to hurl on his actual Mom.

  
There was something else. Something else important he was forgetting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (BAMF _MEREDITH QUILL_, YOU GUYS!)
> 
> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	27. Friends On The Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Meredith krutaking Quill.

Meredith saw her son’s eyes widen in sudden panic. “Mom,” he panted, suddenly starting to struggle again, “Mom, my friends, my friends are in there—“ he jerked his chin out and up, trying to get her to look behind her. “—they’re, they’re in that cage, and Jason’s drainin the life outta em, and—“

  
He broke off, gasping for air, and wheezed, “—we gotta get em outta there, and then we gotta blow up the planet, or else the whole galaxy will—“

She cut him off, gently stroking his forehead again. “I know, darling, I know. That’s one of the reasons I came.”

He blinked sluggishly at that, his blue eyes trying to find hers and tracking them slowly. “…huh?”

She considered explaining it all to him. It was a long story, involving, among other things, an Infinity Gem known as the Soul Stone and a strangely convenient rip between dimensions. As well as her gradually meeting up with, or being introduced to, an extremely diverse group of people in the afterlife.

These included, but were not limited to:  
a) a mother and daughter exceedingly concerned for a particular knife nut’s wellbeing,  
b) a small green-skinned boy insistent on making sure his big sister sang and danced again,  
c) a bespectacled scientist with frizzy hair, hell-bent on helping the small raccoon she’d tried—and failed—to save from brutal experimentation,  
d) a group of friendly (and surprisingly bad-ass) trees,  
e) two antennae-waving parents whose kind eyes hid remarkably intense feelings for their daughter,  
f) a somewhat sardonic commander by the name of Saul who grumbled about ‘owing a debt of gratitude to a bunch of a-holes’,  
g) Saul’s slightly bewildered group of Nova Corps pilots, and  
h) assorted Ravagers who looked just as bewildered as the Nova Corps. (Apparently they’d never thought they’d die defending Xandarian airspace. Or that they’d ever land in this particular dimension.)

Actually, the list of strange and unlikely allies went on. And on. And ON.

So did the adventures. As a matter of fact, it was mostly luck that Meredith was the one standing here right now. Well, luck and the fact that she had the best connection to the energy currently coursing through Jason—and Peter’s—veins. Being the mother of a half-Celestial did give her some power on this planet (and over this threat) after all.

Once Peter had activated his own power, it had provided the bridge through the rift she needed to cross back into this world.

With all that was at stake, and the fact that she and her friends had worked rather hard to make sure she could cross over at just the right time…

Well.

It just hadn’t seemed right for the Guardians of the Galaxy to do their best, but have no aid ready to hand when they needed it.

Meredith considered telling her son all of this, but decided against it. He was so tired and confused already. His head kept nodding and his eyes kept sliding shut, even though he was trying so hard to keep looking at her.

She swallowed hard, feeling something like a sob rise up in her throat. She’d known it would be hard, seeing her baby all grown up. She’d known he was hurt. But she hadn’t known quite how much he’d been hurt, or exactly in what way. She still didn’t know. And here, on this side of eternity, there just wasn’t that much _time_. She didn’t have the _time_ she wanted, the time she _needed_ to make sure he was all right.

Oh, and she wanted so _much_ time. She wanted to take the time she’d lost with Peter _back_ , and stay here _forever_.

But that just wasn’t how it worked. There wasn’t time to tell him half her stories, or hear any of his. She couldn’t stay here after her work was done, she literally could not remain on this side of the rift after Jason was defeated. Not even to make sure Peter and his friends were all right.

She just didn’t have the ability. Or the time.

One day, they would. One day, she and Peter would have all the time in the world. (The other world, anyway.)

She looked forward to that day with all her heart.

But it was not Peter’s time yet. Not right now. Not if she had anything to say about it.

Meredith kissed his forehead again and stroked his hair back. “Don’t worry, darlin.” she soothed. “I’ll handle this part. You just rest.”

Peter looked like he wanted to protest. Then suddenly—too suddenly—he slumped back against the wall, shoulders sagging wearily. “…kay.” he breathed. She hid her frown from him. He never sat back and let others do things. Even when he should have.

He must be more hurt than even she had thought.

And the jackass who’d done it was standing about twenty feet to her left. When she got her hands on—

—she looked back at her son, and felt sick with fear. Peter was looking grey now, and fading fast. She thought quickly. “Baby,” she said coaxingly, “do you want to listen to your music? You always liked that. I’ll put it on for you.”

His face brightened momentarily, then twisted. “Yeah…” he said slowly. “Um…” His eyes flicked over towards Jason’s back, and one shaking hand went automatically to the clip at his side. Meredith felt her heart give a sudden squeeze. His walkman, the one he’d loved so much, was smashed. What was left of it hung in pieces at his side.

Meredith ground her teeth at the heartbroken look on her son’s face. She suddenly forgot her own mission. All she desired was to turn and fly at Jason’s face, scratch his eyes out, rip that Celestial spine out through his back. She wanted to do all sorts of things. But again, she just didn’t have the time. Her son and his friends didn’t have the time.

“Hmmmmm.” was all she said. She stretched out a hand, fiddled with the broken player. “Let’s see what I can do.”

Peter looked blearily up at her. “Mom…” he said weakly. “I…I…I mean, I love my tunes…but…what about…my friends…?”

She winked at him as she made some adjustments to the shattered pieces. “It’s all part of the plan, baby.” She snapped a few bits into place, closed her eyes and made a few temporary dimensional adjustments. “There are some things I can do as I am, and some I can’t. Technicalities about bein in this world. I might be able to temporarily…hmm…do somethin with this…” She clicked a few more pieces around. Grinned to herself as she found exactly what she needed in the back of her mind.

_Hmph, you’re welcome._

Saul’s sardonic mutter faintly made it through the dimensional rift. She mentally fluttered her eyelashes becomingly at him, then turned her attention back to the boy and the machine in front of her. Annnd….done.

She gave Peter an encouraging kiss on the cheek. “All set. You rest now. I’ll take it from here.”

She pressed a button. Stepped back and slightly to one side.

*******

Peter was confused. Happy, but confused. Also, still in considerable pain.

How’d his mom get here? He didn’t know.

How was she going to help? He didn’t know.

How was the walkman at all important to savin the galaxy? He didn’t know.

And how was it playing?

No, really. _How?_ Jason had smashed the batteries to clinking pieces, and the speakers looked like confetti, and the tape had snapped on the cassette and even Rocket’d been like “ooooooooohhhhhh…” when he’d seen the damage.

Regardless of the fact that it shouldn’t have been able to shut, let alone play, the walkman was warbling out a song. And his mom usually had impeccable taste in music, but what the heck was _this_? This song had a timid, meek piano intro, softly tiptoeing its way into being, almost too low to be heard. The singer’s voice was nervous, scared. Singing about how someone had left her side.

His mom would never have put that on his mix.

And she hadn’t.

No, really. She hadn’t. That song was nowhere on any of his mixes.

But….wait. He knew the song. He knew that song. And it was—

Peter felt his old grin start to tug back across his face.

“Oh, _yeah_.” he said thickly to himself.

****

Dimly, Jason felt something going wrong with his plan. He frowned, reviewing it to himself. Mentally incapacitate the boy with pain and terror, check. Continue to drain the life from his scruffy ragtag bunch of misfits, check. Continue with the Expansion. Check.

  
Except…come to think of it, the boy had been unusually inactive for the last few minutes. Perhaps the thing imitating his mother had gone too far. Perhaps it had broken his mind too much.

Jason considered that. Then shrugged. He could always regrow Peter’s mind if he had to. The energy here was inexhaustible. And if he did it right, Peter might be a better son this time around. Leave out a few synapses, rewire a few delicate endings and thought processes, and Peter could be an entirely different person.

Jason was a firm believer against free will. As the pinnacle of evolution—a literal mind himself—he could not fathom anything immaterial mattering very much, if at all.  
People were logical processes and the physical material they were made of. Thoughts and decisions and emotions and choices were merely electrical signals and circulating cells. That was all there was to it. If he changed Peter’s mind, he could change Peter.

Yes. Yes, he rather liked that plan. Once the Expansion was done here, he’d get to work rewiring Peter’s mind.

That would be very interesting.

Then, at the very edge of his hearing. Music.

He shook his head, once. Sometimes memories would startle him out of his thoughts, bits and snippets of the songs Meredith had loved ricocheting through his brain and painfully reminding him of her.

So he’d trained himself to ignore them.

But this song…was different. Quiet, small, timid. About someone being afraid, petrified, spending so many nights without her love by her side.

But there was no way that music was playing.

Unless the boy’s walkman was, inconceivably, still working. Or the kid was trying to mentally distract him again.

Jason snarled to himself and turned around, vowing to yank the tumor from the boy’s central nervous system and slam it into his _amygdala_. That’d show him. Jason would enjoy seeing if the boy was still a smartass after unending, mindless terror tore through his entire brain for several centuries.

But Jason never made it to his son. Instead, the Celestial found himself staring into blazing blue eyes.

His own mind froze for a second. They looked like the boy’s eyes.

Or, more accurately, the boy’s eyes looked like _them_.

A voice, one he’d long ago forgotten how to recall correctly. But this tone was not at all the warm, sweet one he’d gotten used to.

In fact, it was as cold and as sharp as a glacial winter.

“Hello, _sweetie_.” she said icily.

Then, as the music swelled, and the singer’s full-throated power swept into being—

—defiantly belting out the words **“I WILL SURVIVE!!!”** —

—Meredith Quill bitch-slapped her murderer with all the power of the astral plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so tbh, the last sentence "...and Meredith Quill bitch-slapped her murderer with all the power of the astral plane." is the reason this fic got written. 
> 
> The phrasing was just too good not to build a story around. That,and the day after I saw Vol. 2, I heard "I Will Survive" on the radio, and I thought of Meredith Quill and...and everything just fell into place. 
> 
> (Don't worry this story still isn't done yet...for one thing we haven't seen nearly enough of Yondu. :) )
> 
> As always, reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :)


	28. Somebody New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meredith Quill doesn't _think_ she can dance. She _knows_ she can dance.

It was about as awesome as it sounded.

A shock wave exploded out from the two figures, almost visible waves of sound and force roaring across and through the underground caverns. Sapphire light shuddered, then rapidly succumbed to rolls of green fire as Jason’s power wavered and died under the sudden ferocity of Meredith’s attack.

Squinting his eyes half-shut against the blinding glare, Peter saw the hair streaming back from his mother’s face, her bright eyes blazing with a strange emerald light.

Just for a second, she seemed—a little more—unearthly—than she had before. She’d been strong in life, he knew. Now that she was—whatever she was, ‘undead’ wasn’t right and ‘dead’ just didn’t seem to adequately describe her new state of being…now that she was…

…that…

her power was freaking _incredible_.

He’d seen Jason rip apart a planet’s crust and crush starships without doing more than flicking his fingers. Hell, he’d been on the receiving end of that power. Had felt the awful draining energy as it tore the life out of him and rushed to crush the life out of countless worlds.

His mother’s energy, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Her power surged with life and light, blazing out and shattering Jason’s tendrils of crusted stone and twisted energy and slabs of rock with her own power and fire.

Yeah, _Mom_.

Peter cheered weakly as the limp form of his father flew forty feet past him and cracked against the cavern wall. Meredith grinned fiercely, and pointed a finger at the cage still flickering around his friends. The music swelled even louder, ripples of emerald waves tearing away at the twisting energy. Abruptly, the bars vanished and his friends tumbled out of their inelegant pile, gasping and sweating and very much alive.

And _pissed_.

Peter thought he knew how they felt. As their cage vanished, so did the blue energy tendril holding him in place. It drew away into the wall behind him, dropping him down and leaving him weaving unsteadily on his feet. He wavered for a moment, thought about just sitting down and taking a five minute power nap.  
But then he looked at his mother and his friends, and realized he needed to intervene.

Before anyone killed anyone else by mistake.

Starting with their baby tree.

“IAM _GROOOOOOT_!” The little one howled over the music. Deftly avoiding Rocket’s frantically grasping claw, Groot pelted towards Meredith’s form, shooting vines from his hands, clearly trying to pull her away from Peter. His vines went through Meredith, and hit Peter in the face.

The force behind the lashing branches was enough to bounce the unlucky Star-Lord back off the wall and then onto his hands and knees. He let out a resigned “Ow.” and rubbed at his nose with a mostly-numb hand. “Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.” he groaned to himself. “What a day.”

Groot paused for a moment, eyes wide and aghast. “IamGroot!” he gasped, and started to cry as he continued to run towards Peter. He shot out a viney hand that wrapped around one of Peter’s fingers, and started tugging his friend relentlessly towards him, snarling up at Meredith’s ghostly form the entire time. “I am **Groot**.” he growled, over Peter’s yelp of pain, and Meredith’s eyebrows jumped in puzzlement.

“Groot!” Rocket hollered. “It’s okay, okay? I think she’s fine! Probably! But stay away from her until I’m sure!”

Meredith blinked over at Groot, then bent down until she was closer to his eye level. “I am his mommy.” she said kindly. “But you are a good friend to be so protective.”

She cast Peter a smile as Groot continued to insistently tug the vines linked to her son’s pinky finger. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Yeah.” Peter rasped. “I am.” He tugged Groot towards him and placed him carefully on his palm. He turned around and, kneeling, held Groot out to her for an introduction. “Groot, this is my mom.” he said, pride in his voice. “Mom, this is Baby Groot.” Meredith smiled and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Baby Groot.” she said politely. Groot glared at her suspiciously, and clutched Peter’s thumb protectively. **_“IamGroot!”_** he growled again. Meredith winked at him.

“I’d love to prove it.” she said genuinely. Across the cavern, there was a groaning sound. Jason stumbled up from where he’d fallen, eyes crossed, white hair standing on end. Mantis gasped, Gamorra snarled, and Drax readied his knives.

Without bothering to look, Meredith flung a hand out to the side. The music swelled to a thunderous roar again.

**—AND SO YOU’RE BACK! FROM OUTER SPACE!!—**

An unseen wall of force struck Jason in the chest and sent him shooting backwards into the caverns, out of sight. The music itself continued to boom throughout the cavern, about a sad look upon a face.

For a moment, the Guardians waited, Peter looking excitedly at his mother like a child on Christmas. For her part, Meredith kept her eyes fixed on the cavern where Jason had disappeared, her hands still outstretched towards it. She swayed slightly from side to side, her lips moving along with the words of the song, and a grim, fierce little smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

As the singer wished she’d changed that stupid lock and made him leave his key, Meredith fisted her hands and jerked her arms back in towards herself, the motion fast and powerful. A thin yelling sound, only dimly heard over the catchy tune, sounded as the Celestial with severe delusions of grandeur flailed rapidly back towards them.

Mantis felt a strange expression tugging upwards at her lips as Master’s yell grew louder the closer he came, then lessened as he rocketed on by. Then she realized she was laughing. She’d never really laughed before. It was wonderful! And the beautiful music continued to pound on over the panicked sounds Master was making.

**—IF I’D KNOWN FOR JUST ONE SECOND YOU’D BE BACK TO BOTHER ME—**

Groot giggled as Jason hit their side of the cavern with a solid sounding _whuchunck_ and slid squeakily down the wall towards the floor. Meredith made some quick motions with her hands, and the invisible force flipped Jason around and around and around. She clapped her hands sharply together, and Jason smashed down— _hard_ —onto his back, staring upside down at his son from a distance of about twenty yards. Pale-faced though he was, Peter gave him a cheeky grin and an enthusiastic thumbs up.

 **“ISN’T SHE AMAZING?!!”** he hollered. Jason did not reply. Meredith made a disdainful flicking motion with one hand. The unseen force yanked Jason backwards, away from Peter, hard into another wall. Meredith flipped her hands and moved her feet, alternating her movements so that emphatically, epically, a beatdown of literally cosmic proportions went down to the beat of a classic Terran masterpiece.

**—OH NO, NOW GO!!—**

_—thwack thwack thwack—_

**—WALK OUT THAT DOOR!—**

_—boomboompachow—_

**—JUST TURN AROUND NOW! CUZ YOU’RE NOT WELCOME ANYMORE!!—**

Rocket cocked his head to one side, smiling dreamily. Pete’s mom was an artist, getting in an average of one whack a word. Her timing was a thing of beauty.

  
The synchronized psychic ass-kicking repeated that same pattern a few times. Then Meredith began to freestyle, at one point bouncing the arrogant mass murder off his own stalactites and stalagmites lining the cavern. With appreciation, Gammorra noted how Meredith used Jason’s own form to slash and tear through his galactic map, ripping it to great, scattered shreds of digitalized pixels. And she couldn’t help but admire the way Meredith did it too. Her moves were graceful, incredible, never wasting a fraction of efficiency. Not only was she _destroying_ Jason, but she was doing it with _style_. To _music_.

_She was dancing._

**—WEREN’T YOU THE ONE WHO TRIED TO BREAK ME WITH GOODBYE, DID YOU THINK I’D CRUMBLE, DID YOU THINK I’D LAY DOWN AND DIE—**

Drax roared with laughter over the sound of the thuds and whacks echoing through the cavern. “She is indeed your mother, Quill! Although her grace and ease of movement far exceeds yours!!”

Rocket yelled in agreement and Gamorra laughed, seeing Groot trying his best to imitate Meredith’s Quill’s moves. Peter grinned at all of them and gave Drax a double thumbs up. Meredith cast them all a look over her shoulder, a wicked, shining gleam in her eye. Without even looking, she then tossed Jason straight through one of the far away pillars lining the cavern. Far away, a bit of the cavern crumbled in upon itself, the distant falling stones starting to punctuate the beat of the song.

**—I WILL SURVIVE—**

Dust started to fall from the roof, all the damage staying miles away from where they were. Drax roared with approval, Rocket cackled, and Peter was in seventh heaven, singing the lyrics along with Groot.

**“—OOOOH, AS LONG AS I KNOW HOW TO LOVE I KNOW I’LL STAY ALIVE—“**

_—IIIIIIIAMGROOT I AM GROOT, I’M GROOT, I’M GROOT I’M GROOT—_

Mantis whirled round and gave Gammorra an impromptu but enthusiastic hug as the beat continued on. Gammorra even returned it, barely hesitating at all.

**—NOT THAT CHAINED UP LITTLE PERSON STILL IN LOVE WITH YOU—**

Mantis whooped and jumped excitedly up and down, clapping her hands. “This is so fun!” she shrilled. “I want to learn how to fight too!’ Gammorra felt a rare smirk spread across her face. After this, maybe she could convince herself to take up dancing again, after all. Or at least not be embarrassed about doing it anymore…

**—NOW I’M SAVING ALL MY LOVIN FOR SOMEONE WHO’S LOVIN ME—**

Meredith blew a kiss to Peter between the beats on that one. Peter grinned, blew her a kiss of his own back, and then made finger guns and shot them at Jason’s cartwheeling form. Then he collapsed backwards, laughing so hard that Drax grew concerned and offered to do what he called the “Heinrich” maneuver on Peter, because he didn’t want Peter to “die laughing”. With difficulty, Gammorra persuaded him not to do this. By the time she’d tugged him backwards and away from Peter’s still singing form, the song had finished in a final triumphant swell of sound and crash of music.

By this time, Jason had dropped like a limp fish to the ground.

Meredith turned back to them, the emerald energy around her form simmering down a little. “And _that_ ,” she said smugly, “is how you make the most of the power you’ve been given by your friends on the other side.”

She shot an almost apologetic look at the team. “I’m afraid that’s almost all I can do here.” she said frankly. “I hope it was enough help.”

Groot was beaming happily. “I am Groot.” he burbled, and stuck out his small hand in grateful, excited anticipation. Meredith could not touch him, but gently wafted her glowing fingers through his all the same.

“IamGroot.” Groot announced contentedly as the other Guardians ran up.

Rocket wheezed and hefted his gun again. “She is.” he said, impressed. Meredith inclined her head politely to him. “Rocket.” she said, voice pleased. “Thank you for coming to my son’s aid.” She looked round the circle. “You too, Gamorra, and you, Drax.” She smiled at Mantis, who was suddenly hanging back from the circle. “You as well, Mantis.” she said warmly. Mantis shook her head nervously, eyes on the ground and her antennae drooping miserably. “I helped Jason.” she said sorrowfully. “I should also share in his punishment.”

Meredith shook her head emphatically. “At worst, you were fooled by him.” she said. She smiled at the girl again. “Believe me, I understand.”

Drax growled. “This planet is evil. Nothing good comes from it. We should destroy it with all haste.”

Gamorra cut him off. “You’re wrong about that, Drax.”

Drax’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “What do you mean, green witch friend?”

Gamorra and Meredith shared a look. Then Meredith answered for her. “I did get Peter from Jason.” she said, running her hand adoringly through her son’s hair again. “Who I absolutely cannot imagine living without.”

Then her voice went wry. “Other than that, yes, friend Drax. I agree. We have to blow this a-hole up.”

Peter grinned shakily at that, wiped a last tear of laughter from his eye, and set Groot carefully down. He struggled to his feet, then looked up at the core, and then at his mother and friends. He sighed and drew his remaining laser pistol from his belt. With his other hand, he activated his facemask, and grimaced as it rippled into being over his face. Then he started to lever himself up to his feet. “Okay.” he rasped through the mask. “Here’s the pl—“

Peter went down so fast Gamorra almost didn’t catch him. Cursing, she eased him down onto his back on the stone floor of the cavern, while Meredith fell down on her knees at his side and deactivated the mask. The metal piece fell apart in her hands, the mask crumbling from existence even as they watched.

“PETER!” everyone yelled, the lighthearted mood rapidly dissipating. Some of their tones were some worried, some exasperated, but all of them were concerned. Peter blinked as the mask disappeared from his face. He tried grinning at them.

“Okay.” he said weakly. “Whoops…s—sorry, jus, jus’ tired. Um, plan’s the same as it was before. I’m jus’ gonna lie down and tell it to ya’ll again. Mantis, you’re keeping Jason asleep, right?”

Mantis nodded grimly at him, her small hands fisted into the ground. Her antennae quivered with supressed fury.

“He will stay the _krutak_ asleep.” she confirmed. Her face twisted a little in concentration and pain. “But we should destroy his core with all haste. He is angry. And scared of your mother. Which makes him angrier, I think.”

Meredith smiled unpleasantly at the core pulsing nervously above their heads. “Is he now.”

Peter realized she’d taken one of his hands and he squeezed it back, smiling sleepily. “Drax, Gamorra, keep, uh, keep usin the shuttle’s guns ta get to the core. Rocket, you figgure out a way ta make a bomb. We’ll plant it on ‘im, jump in the shuttle, and get the heck outta here before we blow up too. Nova Prime’s got our location, so once we get outta atmo we should…uh, be okay. She’ll send ships and get us outta here.”

He noticed the other four Guardians and his mother exchanging looks, and frowned a little. “Whas’ wrong with that plan?” he asked, unreasonably feeling a little hurt.

“It’z a _great_ plan. You all liked it before…”

“Yeaaaaaaah.” said Rocket. “Except…”

Peter followed their line of sight. He saw what they were looking at and briefly closed his eyes. His head had started to hurt again.

“Uh…” he said thickly. “Uh…okay.” He opened his eyes again, forced them to focus.

The twisted, mangled remains of the shuttle glowed in front of them. Jason must have cut it into pieces after he’d grabbed Peter.

“Tha’ sonofabitch.” he wheezed, tiredly. Closed his eyes again, tried to think of a plan. They could probably still blow up the core, sure. But how could they get out?

Did they have spacesuits? Did they even have enough spacesuits? With that asteroid field out there, would the spacesuits even be able to…

“—eter? _Peter!_ ”

His eyes flickered back open. Gamorra was shaking his shoulder, and his mom was resting the back of one hand on his forehead. The two women exchanged meaningful looks. Drax and Rocket were hovering worriedly in the background, Mantis was calling and asking what was going on, and Groot’s head suddenly veered up _right_ in front of Peter’s eyes, twin pools of worried dark brown suddenly filling his entire field of vision.

“—ooot.” the little tree whispered seriously. Peter choked, jerked in surprise, and wished he hadn’t. The euphoria from seeing his mom again had ebbed away now. His whole body felt like it was on fire. He was so tired. And everything _hurt_.

But he couldn’t just fall asleep now. There was a job to do. He had to help his team. And he couldn’t do that if he kept fallin asleep. He gritted his teeth, tried to get up.

The world blanked out again. Voices filtered in, patchy and garbled.

“—eter!”

“Stoppit, ya dast idiot—“

“—do not be an imbecile—“

“—baby, don’t. Something’s wrong. We’re trying to figure out what it is.” Wait, that last voice was his mom. His mom? She wasn’t here, though. She wasn’t here. She couldn’t be…

“Oh _no_.” his mother’s voice said. She sounded worried. Peter realized he must have been talking out loud. He tried forcing his eyes open, to check and see if she maybe was there.

He didn’t get them to open quite all the way. He tried asking if she was there instead. Maybe one of his friends could tell him.

“Uhhhhnnn.” he managed. Another slight pressure on his arm. Gamorra’s voice.

“It’s all right, Peter. We’ve got this. You just lie still.” The slight pressure vanished, Gamorra’s voice moving away. She was talking about cracks and fissures, and blowing up moons, and spacesuits and asteroid evasion, and Drax and Rocket’s voices moved away with her towards what remained of the shuttle. Groot shrilled something as well and scampered away, probably towards Mantis. Probably to give her emotional support. Or to run over and kick Jason’s still figure a couple dozen times in the head. Whatever worked, he guessed.

Peter grunted a little, feeling their necessary but sudden absence. He tried shifting his weight so he could get up again, get to one of the groups and be with _somebody_. He didn’t want to get up, not really. Everything hurt so much. But he hated being alone so much more.

Then that same soft touch again. He almost jumped out of his skin with surprise. Whoever-it-was held the back of their hand along his forehead again, the same way his mother used to check him for fever when he was little.

Oh yeah, his mom was here. He’d forgotten. She spoke again. “Peter.” she whispered. “Honey, you’re…oh, Peter. Somethin’s wrong, and I don’t know what it is. They need you, darlin, to defeat Jason—and I need you to be all right…Peter, what happened, baby, can you tell me?”

Peter wanted to laugh. Or cry. Eh, a bit of both, really. What hadn’t happened, he wondered.

“Uhn,” he tried. His brain had gone thick and muddled, images from the last few days? minutes? guess it depended which time zone you were in—slogging through his mind. He tried matching the images he saw to words he could remember.

“We…answered call from…Nova Prime…then, ‘avagers…an’…an’ Yondu…came…uh…then the…planet…an’ the…Expansion…and the—“

He broke off, suddenly scared.

The thing that Jason had conjured. That had ripped up his mind. It’d—it’d—

His eyes snapped open. Looked up at his mom’s face, into her blue eyes. She smiled at him, lifted her hand and moved his hair back from his forehead again. She was saying something encouraging and helpful, but he didn’t hear a word of it. Horrible, awful panic smothered him in a suffocating wave.

  
Peter flinched away from her touch and squeezed his eyes tight shut. He swallowed hard, tried yelling for his friends, but no sound came out. He forced his lips to move, to remember their names.

_—morra, Drax, Rocket, Groot, Mantis, Drax, Rocket, Groot, Mantis, Gam—Gam—_

Suddenly air rushed back into his lungs and he was able to speak again.

 ** _“—AMORRA!!”_** he screamed.

He felt the figure by his side give a sudden start, let out a small gasp of sound. It’d let go of his face once he’d flinched away, but it still held one of his hands. Peter twisted his hand out of its grip with an effort and tried moving away, trying not to panic. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see, and he couldn’t move, and the thing was right—

Running feet pounded back towards him, skidded to a halt as someone slid to his other side in a rush of gravel and rocks. “Peter?!” Gamorra’s voice was harsh and scared.

Peter’s tongue was thick, his throat tight. “—morra.” he rasped, reaching blindly out for her hand. “—morra, it’z, it’s not mom, itz not, itz not—don’ letit—“ He found her hand and clutched onto it frantically, like a drowning swimmer grabbing on to a rope.

“It’s all right, Peter.” Gamorra said, returning his grip, and her voice was oddly shaky. Like she was trying not to cry.

The thing’s voice again, trying to sound like his mom. Man, it did a great job of pretending to sob.

“—don’t know what it is.” it said, “—even with the core still intact, he’s getting so much worse so quickly—“

Gammorra’s voice was quiet. “Yes.”

A brief pause as their voices garbled into unintelligible speech. He felt Gamorra’s hand shift in his and he panicked, held onto it harder. He knew it was hers, and not the other thing’s, because the rings she always wore were there, and little pieces of cybernetic implants jabbed into his fingers. Wait, they were jabbin into his fingers. That was probably hurting Gamorra. He tried easing up his grip a little, found it harder than he’d anticipated.

Like, literally, almost impossible. He realized his hand was starting to clench into a fist, the muscles tightening of their own volition, straining and jerking way too much. If he didn’t let go of her hand soon, he’d probably break it.

He tried to swallow, found he couldn’t. With a last, desperate effort of will, he all but threw her hand to the side and then tried to curl up in a ball, childishly hoping to avoid whatever awful thing came next.

The pain found him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all _so much_ for the lovely comments and kudos! I'm literally dancing with joy over here, much like Star-Lord at the beginning at the beginning of GOTG Vol.1.
> 
> If you have the time, please let me know which character you enjoyed, what you liked about the story, or even a particular part you enjoyed in the fic! Even a simple AAAAAHHHH is fun to see! 
> 
> Reading your reviews helps me remember that, to quote a certain planet, "I AM NOT ALONE!" (Although I _do_ promise _not_ to forcibly make anyone part of a plot to take over the cosmos) ;)


	29. After Effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it's never that easy.

Usually, Gamorra did not allow herself to panic. She did not allow herself to cry either. Both reactions were tactically useless and could get you killed in the typical life or death situations Thanos’ pawns routinely found themselves in. Becoming a Guardian did not mean she’d lost all of her basic survival habits.

So when Peter’d screamed her name, she most certainly had _not_ dropped everything she’d been holding and raced to his side. She most certainly was _not_ wordlessly staring across him at the all-but-insubstantial form of his mother. And she most certainly did _not_ tear up when Peter grabbed one of her hands and clutched it as if he was drowning.

“What happened?” Gamorra said dumbly. The golden-haired woman on the other side of Peter looked heartsick, blinking tears out of her eyes.

“I—I don’t know.” she said, sounding lost. “He was stable, at least—and then he just—“

They both looked down at Peter. He didn’t look good. His visibly racing pulse throbbed in his throat, he was trembling violently, and sweat had broken out on his forehead. But he was still trying to smile at them. Gamorra frowned a little at that. He could be an idiot sometimes, but this was a new level of stupid bravado even for him. No one should pretend that—

—she realized his hand was tightening on hers, almost painfully—she ignored it—he was scared, after all—

—but wait—maybe he wasn’t just—

Gamorra looked closer at Peter’s strained, stretching smile. She pointed at it with her free hand, willing her voice not to shake. “Uh..is that nor—“ she began to ask.  
As she spoke, she felt his hand spasm in hers with a violence that deeply scared her. He grunted, practically threw her arm away from him, and then jerked over onto his side, twisting towards his mother.

If he’d been making any sounds, Gamorra would have been scared.

But he wasn’t making any sound at all. So she was _terrified_.

If a ghost could go white, Meredith Quill would have. She grabbed her son by the shoulders and kept him in place, staring into his face as he shook silently in her hands. Gamorra just knelt there, at a complete loss for what to do. Her training as an assassin had taught her how to kill people, not help them.

Her mind was slow, stupid, sluggish. Just minutes ago, Peter’d been howling with laughter and looking happier than she’d ever seen him. But now? Now he was white-faced, delirious, and silently shaking to pieces in front of her. Worst of all, she had no clue what to do. _Maybe it’s poison,_ she thought. _No poison you know of does **that**._ her mind replied.

Gamorra found her voice, yelled for some of the other Guardians to _get over here right the **hell** now, they had to figure out what the **frak** was wrong with Quill._  
Rocket arrived first, one very volatile (and probably stolen) quartex battery in one paw. He stared down at Peter, eyes wide. On his shoulder, Groot whimpered.

“Holy crap.” Rocket breathed. He shot a worried look over at Peter’s mom.

“This isn’t that tetanus thing, is it?” he asked. Quill’s mother looked up from her shaking son, the lines around her eyes tightening. She cocked her head. “It might be.” she said very slowly. “But how could he have gotten that?” The question was even, her words neutral. But the sick, anguished fury behind it made Gamorra’s stomach twist.

Rocket looked sick. “On the Ravager ship, they…uh…well—“

“We all saw the beating they gave Quill!” Drax shouted from his position over by Mantis. “His wounds have healed from that encounter! Those injuries are not what is killing him!”

Rocket roared back at him. “Uh, _yeah_! But he might still have an infection, right!? The whole planet energy thing might not have fixed that yet, yeah? Or Jason mighta left it in? As a sorta kill switch?”

Drax opened his mouth to reply, then paused, nodded thoughtfully. Rocket’s fur visibly prickled all along his spine.

“Okay.” he said heavily, turning back to the little group clustered around Peter. His ears drooped. “Remember that muzzle thingy the Ravagers put on Quill? The one they said the slavers used?”

Gamorra and Groot nodded, the tiny tree shuddering and clutching harder at his friend’s ear. Rocket averted his eyes from Quill’s mother, focused instead on the quartex battery and the bomb he was making out of it. Gamorra knew he was trying to focus. And that sometimes complicated explosive timers were nicer to look at than people. Especially if one had to explain something that would hurt them.

“Uh, well, while you guys were gettin into the Ravager ship, they took it off for a bit. So Pete and I could talk. Turns out the dast thing hadn’t been used for like, thirty years, and there was this spike on one end of it. And, uh, Peter, he was complaining about how nasty it was and that he would probably get “tetanus”. I thought he was tryin to joke—hell, he probably was—but…uh…what is tetanus, exactly?”

Quill’s shaking finally eased, and he slumped in Meredith’s grasp, breathing for the first time in minutes, the gasps harsh and ragged in his throat. Meredith kept her eyes on him as she answered.

“It’s a sort of infection.” she said neutrally. “A very bad one.”

Rocket bared his teeth at the timer he was wiring together. Groot wrung his tiny twig-like hands.

“Iamgroot.” he whispered. Meredith tried to smile at him. “No, you couldn’t have.” she said soothingly. “Once you get it, it’s there. It’s not something you can just take away.” She looked back down at her son. “The toxin’s in his bloodstream now. You just…you have to treat the symptoms until…well. Until they go away.”

Gamorra didn’t like the sound of that. Neither did Rocket, who twisted a wire so hard it snapped, and he had to start over again.

“How long does that take, exactly?” he snarled down at the timer.

Meredith rolled Peter onto his back again, keeping her eyes on him as she replied. “Months, if it's very bad.”

Rocket missed another wire, swore at himself. “We don’t got that kinda time.” he snarled. “We got a crazy wanna be god tryin to wake up, a bomb that we gotta set off if we’re gonna save the galaxy AGAIN, an’ a friend who ain’t breathin so good right now. We don’t got _time_.”

Meredith tore her eyes away from Peter. She pressed his hand once more, then turned to his friends, her motions swift and businesslike.

“No. You don’t.” she said briskly. “And out of all of you, I can only physically interact with Peter. I can only influence this planet on an extremely limited scale. When the light from the planet dies, I vanish as well.”

She caught the brief, dazed, heart-broken look Peter gave her, and pressed his hand harder, herself. “I wish it was different, baby. But it’s what I’ve got.” She looked up at his friends again. “I also had the power to knock Jason out, but that was because I _sucker-punched_ his ass. What I _don’t_ have is the raw power needed to keep him down for long. And Peter doesn’t have the experience, or the energy. We’ll have to think outside the box for you all to get out. And you are _all_ getting out.”

She turned her face up towards the roof of the cavern, her blue eyes blazing green again. “You mentioned Ravagers.” She pointed a finger upwards. “Are they nearby?”

Rocket nodded. “Yeah. We stole the shuttle from their master ship to get down here. But I dunno if they’d still be around. Time’s longer down here than it is off-planet. It took us maybe forty minutes or so to pilot our way through the asteroid field and git down here. Up there, it’s probably been about an hour since this all started.

Mebbe a little less. Still, they mighta just given up on Taserface and his goons and left by now.” He studied her, a bit worriedly. “What are you gonna do?” he asked.

Meredith’s smile was thin. “I’m going to get you a ride. You let me worry about how. Do you think all of you can get up to the surface once you activate the timer?”

Gamorra clenched her jaw and nodded. They’d have to figure out a way to keep Jason asleep while they escaped to the surface, but they were the friggin Guardians. They’d beaten a genocidal maniac before, with a dance-off and the power of friendship. (And by blowing him to bits with an Infinity Stone, but that’d been after the first two things.)

“Go.” she said evenly. “We’ll figure something out.”

Meredith nodded. Kissed her son on the forehead again, stood up, and, just like that, was gone.

Rocket stared at where she’d been. “Hoooooboy.” he whistled under his breath. “I would _not_ wanna be Yondu Udonta right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	30. Nearly Departed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mutiny. Airlocks. 
> 
> Apparitions.
> 
> Oh, yeeaaaah.

Rocket was right.

_Yondu Udonta_ didn’t want to be Yondu Undonta right now either.

But it wasn’t for the reasons Rocket thought it would be.

Yondu had just found out exactly what had happened to the youngest member of his crew. And he was _pissed. off_.

The bald Ravager with terrible teeth sneered back at him through the door to the cargo bay. “Yeah, you shoulda seen him.” he snickered, his voice thick and muffled through the thick safety glass. “He was all—“ The guy made exaggerated horrified faces through the glass and pretended to cry. He broke off, sniggering. “An’ then—“ he cackled, slapping his knee. “—then,” he chortled, “—T-Taserface said we could finally make Quill shut up, so he had me go ta those ol’ crates the slavers used to use an’ get the—get the—“ He howled as he described how _stupid_ Quill had looked with that thing over his face. Especially when he had tried to _talk_.

Kraglin glowered at the bald jerk laughing his head off on the other side of the door. On Yondu’s other side, Tullk snarled “Shut yer mouth!” in his thick rolling accent.

Between them, Yondu was silent.

It was not the nice kind of silent. Or the broken kind.

When the Cap’n went that kind of quiet, people _DIED_ soon after.

Kraglin shared a look with Tullk. Their captain was pretty awesome, they both knew and tacitly acknowledged that. But for his part, Kraglin was still a leeeetle bit nervous about this whole being “locked in the cargo bay with no weapons” thing, and wasn’t compleeeeetly sure how the Cap’n could kill Wretch and the rest of the mutineers still on the ship.

Since, ya know.

The Cap’n—and his loyal crew—were currently stuck in various bays.

Which the mutineers were talking about venting into space.

Wretch finished his impression of Quill and collapsed in laughter against one of his friends. It was just a regular laugh fest out there.

Then the Cap’n spoke. His voice was so quiet you could scarcely hear it.

Which meant somethin bad was comin.

Somethin real bad.

“Ya’ll did that.” he drawled. “Ya’ll poisoned mah mind with some…” he waved a hand at the thing getting crushed in Tullk’s dripping, iron-clawed fingers. “….some lil’ thing. Then used me as an excuse ta beat the tar outta the kid.”

Kraglin felt a little ill, but kept his face impassive. Tullk had figured out what had happened to the cap’n faster than all of ‘em. When he’d told his theory to Yondu, the Cap’n hadn’t blinked. Just said, “Do it then.” and let Tullk get to work checking the back of his fin.

Kraglin reminded himself he was a Ravager, and a very tough one, who certainly did not want to lose his breakfast just because he’d watched an impromptu and rather messy head surgery only minutes before.

_Urrk_ , nope, keep eyes forward. Tullk was the closest thing they had to a medic, and the Captain was doin just fine, and he wasn’t convulsively swallowing, so nope, Kraglin wouldn’t either. _Ugharck_.

‘Sides. It sounded like the cap’n was gonna start going all out on mutineer hide, and Kraglin wanted to be there when it happened. But the cap’n wasn’t finished givin his version of a trial to the bastards. However much they didn’t deserve it.

“Then,” Yondu said, still utterly calm. “You’n yourn went sixty to one on a kid who’s been parta this crew since he was a pup.”

Wretch finished wiping a tear of laughter away from one bloodshot eye. “Sure did.” he sniggered. “You shoulda seen his FACE!!”

Yondu didn’t blink.

“‘Dat true, Kraglin?” he asked. Kraglin’s own eyes narrowed as he met Wretch’s leering ones.

“Aye, Cap’n. You didn’t know whatchu were doing. But they did. Every las’ one of em. An’ they liked it.”

  
Yondu nodded slightly as Wretch and his other mutineering mates howled and pointed at the smaller groups of Yondu’s grim and silent loyalists, trapped on the other side of various cargo holds.

Yondu cocked his head to one side, red eyes glowing. “Whatchu done, Wretch…you and Taserface…tha’ just doesn’t seem ta hold to our code. Seems more like a coward’s way than a Ravager’s.” Yondu’s men nodded, eyes disgusted and hard.

Wretch sneered, waved the broken remnants of various laser arrows mockingly in front of Yondu’s face. Broken arrows or not, Wretch was still safely behind six inches of heavy glass and sealed safety doors, Kraglin mockingly noted.

“Code or no code, you’re done, Yondu.” Wretch said. His voice and face changed, grew angrier now, uglier. He swiped a grimy sleeve across his nose, snurking unpleasantly. “We’ve waited long enough.” he snarled to the men around him. He grinned, drew back a filthy fist, the other clutching a half-filled bottle of some liquor or another.

“I’m done waitin for Taserface ta come back.” he drawled. His smile widened so his buggy little eyes turned into evil slits.

“You wanna see Quill again so much, cap’n? Go find him yerself.”

Wretch slammed his fist down on the “Exterior Door Override” button. There was a horrible creaking sound as the cargo bay doors behind them began to open, and the gravity in the cargo bay…just left. Kraglin turned and caught a brief glimpse of the dark and shining void of space yawning before his eyes. Then all the air was sucked out of his lungs, and a horrible, biting cold hit him. He felt his blood start to ice, tried to draw breath but couldn’t, and lost his sight as his eyes began to—

_**—BOOM—** _

Kraglin hit the floor, along various bits of cargo and the dozen or so other Ravagers trapped in the same bay with him. Gasping for breath, he looked round.

The doors had closed.

The safety doors, the outer ones meant to avoid accidentally-shooting-things-like-your-fellow-crewmembers-into-space, the safety doors had _closed_. Wheezing, Kraglin shot a look at Tullk, then at the captain. As one, the three of them stared at Wretch. Who still had his fist planted firmly on the “Exterior Door Override” button.

They stared at him.

He stared back. He mashed the button again. And again. And _again_.

The third time he tried it, something happened.

The _interior_ doors hissed open. Leaving nothing but six inches of distance between Wretch and the captain he’d mocked for weakness.

One of them was unarmed and had only eleven or so men with him. The other had twice that number of allies and all of the weapons.

Wretch never stood a chance.

Yondu went for Wretch just as one of the other mutineers brought his gun to bear on his former captain’s head.

As one, Kraglin and Tullk tackled him to the ground. As Yondu yanked Wretch back into the cargo hold and started whaling on him, and as Tullk led the other Ravagers in a roaring charge at the stunned mutineers, Kraglin grabbed the first guy’s gun and laid down covering fire, grimly shooting every mutineer he could see.  
One of them, a panicked-eyed man with half a head of greasy hair, used a fellow mutineer as a living shield and staggered away, mashing another “Exterior Door Override” button as he tried fleeing down the hallway. Maybe he thought that would distract Kraglin. Maybe he just wanted to kill some more ‘soft’ Ravagers before he died too.

Kraglin didn’t _care_. He cursed the coward’s move and kneecapped him with a quick shot. He didn’t _like_ it when people casually airlocked other people. It wasn’t _nice_.

Then, against all odds, instead of shooting the unlucky occupants of the other cargo bay into space, the interior door to that bay hissed open as well. A big red-skinned man with long dark hair was the first to step through it, his usually friendly face dark with anger. Kraglin recognized him. Beyren. Nice guy. Big, but nice. Had rather enjoyed the Xandarian hero gig against Ronan a few months back. Had a soft spot for Quill. Back in the day used to give the kid piggyback rides whenever the kid was feeling down about his ma.

Kraglin suddenly found himself very glad Beyren hadn’t been airlocked. The big guy was a real good pal, and great in a fight, but he had a secret fear of gettin sucked inta space. It was number one on his “Don’t Want To Die That Way” list.

Ugh. Seein Beyren get airlocked would have been _horrible_.

The mutineer who’d tried it squeaked in terror, tried getting up. Without looking, Beyren kicked him in the face, bent down, and ripped the gun away from his hands.

“Stay down.” Beyren suggested. The guy yelled, then drew a knife and drove it at Beyren’s knee.

Kraglin shot him again—this time in the center of mass—and the jerk stayed down. Beyren looked over at Kraglin and hefted the gun. “Thanks man.” he boomed. Then he swiftly brought the rifle to his shoulder, sighted down the barrel, and shot at Kraglin’s head.

  
Kraglin jerked to one side, and the one-eyed mutineer jumping for his back with a knife jerked backwards, Beyren’s own shot taking him square over one eye.

Kraglin and Beyren exchanged grins, then brought their weapons back up to bear on their various enemies.

After a few more minutes of furious fighting, things seemed to be going well for Yondu’s small group.

But then a panicking group of mutineers jumped Beyren and dragged him off as a hostage towards the shuttle bay. Kraglin swore, and ran back towards where he’d last seen Yondu. He passed Tullk at the doorway, who was swearing as he tried to fix one of the captain’s shattered arrows, and pelted into the dark cargo bay where Yondu and Wretch had been fighting.

He stopped dead.

Wretch was dead near the doorway. Real dead. Yondu’d made sure of that. But the captain wasn’t fighting anymore. He was starin at something that couldn’t be real.

Kraglin swallowed hard. At least, he didn’t think it could be real.

It was a woman. Real pretty. Gold hair, nice summer dress, and eyes bluer than the Xandarian sky. Kraglin blinked. But she couldn’t be real. She looked just like Quill's--

—Quill’s—

— _uh oh_. Kraglin’s first thought was to make himself as small as possible and inch out of the doorway one itty bitty step at a time. Then he remembered Beyren’s desperate face and knew he couldn’t. So he coughed. Loudly.

“Cap’n.” he said hoarsely. “Cap’n, they took Beyren. We can’t get a clear shot. They’re shootin up the ship as they go, an’ we can’t follow em fast enough, Cap’n. They’re gonna use him as a shield to grab a shuttle, an’ then they’ll _space_ ‘im, cap’n. I’m sure of it.” He swallowed, hard. Bobbed his head to the lady as both she and the captain turned to look at him.

“Scuze me ma’m.” he said, as respectful as he knew how. “But my mate needs the cap’n, right now.”

Yondu’s eyes were inscrutable. “Mah fin’s broke, Kraglin.” he said quietly. “That damn lil’ Ego spore done ripped the cybernetics when we took it out.”

Behind Kraglin, Tullk growled a gaelic-inspired curse. “Dast bastards broke all the arrows, too.” He turned back, saw the woman, choked on his words. “Uh, pardon me, ma’m—those sons of bitches broke—no, uh, dammit—ARGH—“

The woman studied Kraglin, then Yondu intently. “Do you wish me to help?” she asked quietly. Yondu’s eyes never left her face. “Somethin tells me you already have,” he said quietly, “but fer Beyren’s sake, I’d greatly ‘ppreciate a little more.”

Quill’s mom nodded and raised her hand to the captain’s head. The fin there suddenly flared back into angry scarlet life, and a suddenly whole—and very mobile—arrow shot up from the pile of splinters where it had previously lain. Yondu whistled, and the arrow zipped off down the darkened corridors where the last surviving mutineers had dragged Beyren. A few seconds went by.

For some reason one of Quill’s songs started playin over the speakers. It was a new one. Something about how “ _hallelujah_ , it’s rainin men”. The woman hummed along to it, her eyes never leaving the captain’s face.

From outside the cargo bay, there were a few screams. And intermittent thumps.

Then Beyren’s voice, loud and roaring with relief. “I’M ALL RIGHT!!” He hollered happily. “I’M ALL RIGHT!! THANKS, CAPTAIN!”

Yondu’s posture eased a bit and reached out a hand, grabbed the arrow as it came whistling back. He slid it carefully into the holster by his side, then looked back at the woman.

“Like I told you before.” she continued, as if nothing had happened. “We don’t have much time.”

Yondu nodded slowly. “Jason has ‘im, then.”

The woman—Meredith, Kraglin suddenly remembered her name—looked, for the briefest second, worried.

“Can you help him?” she asked. Yondu nodded, a brief flicker of—was it doubt?—flashing through his eyes.

“Ta be honest,” he said slowly, “I’m not sure he’ll want it. Comin from me.”

Meredith’s eyes flashed in response. “They’re not exactly spoiling for options.” she said crisply. “The Xandarian fleet is still mobilizing. By the time they get here, Peter and his friends will be either blown to bits or assimilated by that insane monster. Will you help them or not?”

Yondu nodded. “Yes, ma’m. I will.”

Meredith nodded. “Good.” She strode forward, past Yondu, and headed for the bridge. Kraglin all but tripped over himself giving her space to walk past him. Tullk jumped to his feet and pulled respectfully at a filthy lock of hair. Along the corridor, various Ravagers looked up or snapped to attention as she walked past. She passed them almost without noticing, eyes focused forward and intent on her mission.

Yondu followed in her wake, snapping out orders that were promptly obeyed. They were goin to fight a planet and rescue Quill and his crew, seemed like. Strangely enough, this was not the weirdest course they’d ever sailed.

And even if some of them begrudgingly thought they seemed to do an awful lot of running around for a kid who’d caused them a fair share of trouble, the fact that his mom had saved them all from being spaced was enough to silence the few grumblers among the lot.

*********

Yondu found Meredith on the bridge by the pilot’s chair, impatiently tapping at the controls with one immaterial hand. He leaned over and punched in the right coordinates. Then stood there awkwardly, not sure what to say. Meredith looked at him, then out the window towards the planet they were heading in to fight. Yondu looked out at it too. For a moment, silence reigned.

“You abducted my son when he was six.” Meredith said by way of preamble. Yondu coughed. “That I did.”

Another silence. “You saved mah crew.” Yondu mentioned. “Thank you for that.”

Meredith cut her eyes towards him for a moment, then stared back out at the stars. “Hmph. My original plan was to eject _all_  your sorry asses into space and steer this thing back to Peter myself. I only changed my mind once I saw that Jason’d pulled your strings as well. And that you—and this part of the crew—never meant to hurt my baby so bad he’s currently _dying_ from _tetanus_.” She glared round at the crew, picked out Tullk from the group watching in the back.

“You’re the healer?” she demanded. Tullk swallowed nervously and nodded. Meredith speared him with a look. “Look “tetanus” up. It’s an old and awful Terran disease. Get the med bay ready.” she said crisply. “You’ll be Peter’s best chance of making it until the Nova Corps comes.” Her eyes flicked to Beyren. “You look kind. You can help him. **_Now_**.”

Tullk and Beyren looked pleadingly to their captain for permission to do as she said. Yondu nodded. Tulllk and Beyren didn’t exactly sprint from the bridge, but it was close.

Kraglin chanced a glance over at his captain. Typically, if anyone other than the captain himself gave orders on the bridge, they found an arrow hovering by their eye a few seconds later. But Meredith Quill had no such response. Kraglin also told himself that threatening a ghost would be futile. Besides, it was Quill’s ma. She was just tryin to help her kid.

Meredith’s head whipped round to see how Yondu had taken the news about Peter’s condition. When she saw his face twisted in genuine pain, she dialed down her glare from murderous to merely annoyed. She turned back and stared out the window. “So…as to rescuing you and your crew…you’re welcome.” she murmured. “I suppose.”

Yondu wasn’t exactly sure where to go with that. So he just let the silence return. It lasted an uncomfortable fifteen and a half seconds.

Then, “You threatened to eat my baby multiple times.”

Yondu turned and looked at her, surprise crossing his scarred features. “Tha’ was a joke!” he protested. Meredith whipped round, her blue eyes flashing. “Not to him it wasn’t!” she snarled. Yondu looked taken aback, then slightly ashamed of himself. “Oh.”

Another, intensely awkward silence. "

‘m sorry.” The Ravager captain mumbled.

Meredith looked at him sideways. Her voice was unusually sharp. “For what? For abducting him? For raising him into a life of crime? Or for routinely scaring the living daylights out of him as your teaching method?” Her eyes bore into his. “I may be _in_ another world, but don’t think for a _second_ I’m _blind_ to what goes on in _this_ one.”

Yondu scratched at the back of his neck. “Uh… yeah. Ah’m..Ah’m sorry for all of the ‘bove, I suppose.” He took a deep breath, continued on. “If you’re not happy, I unnerstand. And…I’m sorry.” He shrugged unhappily. “I did the best I could. It weren’t very good. But…”

Meredith cut him off, her tone defrosting slightly. “I know you raised him as you would your own. You knew his father would kill him otherwise, so you tried to teach him the tools he’d need to survive. And even though I do not agree with some—with most—of your methods…” her voice defrosted even further. “…I do appreciate the thought behind it.”

Yondu coughed and scratched at the back of his fin. Meredith studied him closely, saw that he was at least slightly ashamed and extremely embarrassed. She relaxed a little and shot him a small smile from the corner of her mouth.

“To be fair,” she said candidly, “I got it on with a homicidal god who ended up giving me brain cancer. So I suppose no one is perfect.” She looked at him again. “You really will do anything to help him, won’t you.” she said quietly.

Yondu glared at the planet rising up before them. “If it kills me.” he growled. Meredith nodded once, as if something had been decided. “Excellent.” she said. “Then I won’t space you. This time.” she said, severely.

Yondu (and the crew on the bridge overhearing this conversation), swallowed hard, and at least three of the scruffier Ravagers silently promised their respective deities to be particularly kind to Quill the next time they saw him. Meredith turned as if to go, then stopped, as if she remembered something. She shot Yondu a look out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh, and, Yondu.” she said, her quiet voice somehow carrying to every corner of the bridge, “Don’t treat my son badly in the future. Even if he does try and take a few jobs out from under your nose.” This time, her smile did not quite reach her eyes as she continued. “Like I said. I had brain cancer that a god with delusions of grandeur gave me. So….I may have gone a _little_ bit crazy.”

Yondu chanced a similar sideways look at her, and—which he rarely did—dared to speak the unadulterated truth.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, ma’m. Unpredictable, a little, and more than slightly dangerous. But truth be told, I’d rather have you as an ally then as a stranger. An’ if I may make so bold…your son is, well, like you, m’am.”

Meredith smiled a little, pleased with that.

“He is.” she agreed complacently. Something warmed her eyes. “But, I do have to say, I’m glad he turned out a little bit like his daddy, too.”

Yondu’s eyes furrowed at that. “Now ma’m, that just ain’t so.” he said hotly. “Peter’s an asshole, some of the time, but he’s not one hundred percent a dick. He’s not anythin’ at all like that ornery son of a bitch that’s tryin ta kill him and the rest of the galaxy. Pardon mah language.” he added, grumpily, almost as an afterthought.

Meredith surprised the entire Ravager crew by suddenly smiling fondly at the captain. “Oh, _Yondu Udonta_.” she said, a mischievous smile that the crew knew all too well playing about her features. “What on _earth_ makes you think _Jason_ is Peter’s father in _anything_ but name?”

“Oh.” Yondu felt his face heat up. “ _Oh_.” He said again. “I see what you’re sayin.”

Meredith laughed then, really laughed, leaned forward, and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be watching you lot. So don’t get into too much trouble.” she said. Somehow her words sounded more like a promise than a threat.

Then she vanished.

The crew stared at where she’d been, then at each other, and then over at the captain. Who had put a stunned hand to his cheek and was rubbing it a little. “Huh.” he said slowly, a rare true grin spreading across his scarred face. “Well, I’ll be dam—“

“Captain!” Kraglin said, his voice maybe slightly higher than it needed to be. “We’re entering atmosphere and encountering some— _ **OW**_ —turbulence—“

“I got it, I got it.” Yondu growled, and leapt into his seat, yanking at the controls.

The entry was rough. Finding the weak signal from the Guardians, rougher. But Yondu wasn’t known as one of the best pilots in the galaxy for nuthin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )
> 
> More Yondu awesomeness is on the way! But first, back to the Guardians...just for a bit...


	31. Everything Hurts and I'm Not Dying...Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even _this_ state of affairs is too good to last.

Peter was _so_ confused. It had been _such_ a confusing day.

First, an emergency call from Nova Prime. Then he’d been abducted by Yondu and got—literally—thrown to the Ravagers. Already not awesome.

Then he’d found out his dad was a _planet_. An _evil_ planet, no less. And he’d been used as a battery to fuel his evil dad’s crazy plot to take over the galaxy. Like, _twice_.

Oh, and his friends had almost died in front of him. And he’d seen his dead mom. Well, he’d _seen_ her twice. Only the _first_ time she hadn’t been _real_.

See what he meant? _So_ confusing.

And somehow he was supposed to be integral to blowing up his dad—uh, blowing up his dad, the evil planet—but right now all he could do was stare up at the cavern’s ceiling and wish he was in any body but his own.

Because he hurt.

His head hurt. His eyes hurt. His brain hurt. His chest hurt. His legs hurt. Hell, his freaking _spleen_ hurt.

Gamorra was still by his side, though, still holding his hand. (And even though that hurt too, this was pretty much the only nice thing happening right now.)

“Drax! Rocket!” she called off to the side. “How close are you to reaching the core?”

For a moment, there was no answer. Then an earth-shattering kaboom reached Peter’s ears, along with a yell of victory from the Destroyer and a roar of delight from Rocket.

“Yeah!” he heard his small furry friend yell. “BOOM, BABY!”

Tiny twig fingers brushed his face. He forced his eyes open—they kept closing, dammit—and saw Baby Groot’s worried eyes hovering over his own again. “IamGroot.” the little plant whispered, and tiny glowing lights floated upwards from his palms, floating around Peter’s face like bits of pollen. Peter tried to smile at him, tried to look like the kid’s magic healing mojo was helping a lot, instead of only a little. But his face was still twisted up, and his grin was more a grimace now than an actual expression. Groot didn’t look reassured. He frowned, closed his eyes, and doubled his efforts with the pollen things.

Peter felt Gamorra’s beringed fingers clumsily stroke his hair. She didn’t like touching people very much. For awhile he thought she was afraid they would hurt her. Lately he’d realized she was afraid she’d hurt them. But she wasn’t hurting him now. This was nice. She was nice. She was doing a good job. He tried telling her so, looking up at her.

“…ni—nice.” he managed. “…g—gud.”

She smiled down at him, the expression small and worried, but genuine. “Don’t talk, Peter.” she said again. She sighed heavily. “At this point I don’t know if you’re physically _incapable_ of talking, but your mother said it’s better if you don’t try.”

Peter would have sulked if he’d had the energy. Or the facial flexibility. Friggin tetanus. Why’d it have to go for the face? Specifically, his jaw? Like, really. Infrequent spasms kept shooting through his face, locking his jaw—oh, _lockjaw_ , _now_ he understood the name—and just generally making life super unpleasant. He dimly remembered when his entire body had tensed up, freezing everything—breathing, seeing, thinking—but thankfully that sort of spasm hadn’t repeated itself. Yet.

Maybe Groot’s magic healing flowers were keeping it at bay. At least a little. Another spasm tightened his jaw and chest and neck, making his head smack back onto the floor again. All of a sudden, it got really hard to breathe. This wasn’t good. This was confusing and scary. Groot redoubled his efforts with the flowers, and Gamorra held his hand steadily until the attack had passed, telling him to just hold on, they’d be done and out of there soon.

Man, he hoped so. He really just wanted to breathe again.

Thundering footsteps, a scrabbling of claws. “The drilling is finished.” Drax announced, panting for breath. “And the smashing, and the stabbing. The core is now visible and exposed.”

Rocket’s claws clicking on what sounded like metal switches. “All righty,” he said, his voice tight with stress and false good cheer, “Here’s the plan. I set the timer fer twenty minutes. We activate it in a sec. Twenty minutes should give us enough time ta get to the surface. Yer mom said she’d be there and get us off world before this krutaker explodes.” A clawed foot nudged Peter’s arm in a surprisingly gentle movement. “Hey, Quill, wake up, buddy. She said you’re important an’ we need you ta blow up this moon.”

Peter blinked one eye half-open at that, expression confused. Rocket shrugged. “Mebbe you just need ta be the one throwin the switch. Beats me. Maybe you’ve got the right energy signature ta make sure the timer works or somethin, I dunno.”

He held out a blurry box towards Peter. “Here, press this button.”

Peter reached out and weakly jabbed at the dark mess that was the box. Rocket yowled and jerked the box back. “NOT _THAT_ BUTTON!” he roared. _“THAT’S_ THE BUTTON THAT IMMEDIATELY KILLS US ALL!” Peter blinked incredulously, but Gamorra verbalized his thought. “Why the _krutak_ would you even _have_ a button like that on the remote?” she demanded.

Drax cut in. “This is not a vital conversation right now. Rocket, help him select the right one.” Rocket sniffed, but did as Drax suggested. There was a slight _Beeeeep_ , and the watch wrapped around Rocket’s paw started to flicker, counting down to imminent destruction. Rocket grinned so all his teeth showed, slapped an emergency spacesuit onto Peter’s shoulder, and activated his own as well. Peter saw his other friends doing the same, Groot having, at Rocket’s insistence, jumped to his shoulder so they could share the suit. He dimly remembered that doing that might compromise a suit’s integrity, but he coulda been imagining that.

His brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders today. But he did notice Drax was holding one of Mantis’ hands in his own. Mantis waved with one hand at him as Drax momentarily released his grip on hers to activate her spacesuit. Through dimming eyes, Peter saw she had one hand still touching the dark cavern wall, a visible vein of blue energy faintly throbbing under her fingers.

She smiled sunnily at him. “I am making sure Jason stays the _flarg_ asleep.” she said, almost smugly. She looked trustingly up at Drax. “The ugly tattooed one said he will help me fly up while I keep contact with the stone.” Her dark eyes flashed with sudden fire as she looked back at Peter. “Jason will not wake again while I am here.” she promised.

Peter nodded vaguely. That sounded like a good thing. He felt Gamorra put one hand under his shoulders, Drax momentarily releasing Mantis’ hand and taking his other side until they could heave him to his feet.

That hurt too. Once he was up, he swayed where he stood, and would have fallen back down if Gamorra hadn’t draped one of his arms across her shoulders. Peter closed his eyes and hoped the planet would stop spinning. Eventually.

Somewhere at the level of his knee, Rocket handed out temporary jetpack kits with terse instructions for them all “ta get up to the krutakin surface and stay close together, or so help me I’ll put Andarvian fire ants in your beds whenever we git back to the _Milano_.”

Peter frowned thoughtfully at this. He knew for a fact that Rocket didn’t have any Andarvian fire ants. The abrasive little guy had set them all free from their box farm.

On Knowhere.

Right by the Collector’s palace.

And that dive bar that already hadn’t liked them very much.

Peter tried reminding Rocket of this memorable escapade that ended with the Milano frantically making the run to Xandarian space in _waaay_ less than twelve parsecs, but his team ignored him. To be fair, he couldn’t even hear himself. He felt Gamorra fasten a jetpack to his back and then squeeze his hand reassuringly.

“I’ll take you up.” she said. Around him, he heard the other jetpacks firing. Rocket and Groot were one set of partners, Drax and Mantis another. He felt Gamorra fire up her own jetpack and then reach over to activate his.

As one cohesive unit, the Guardians of the Galaxy began to steadily rise from the cavern’s floor. Rocket yelled directions and they fell into a rough line, Rocket and Groot in the lead, Peter and Gamorra in the middle, and Mantis and Drax taking up the rear. Mantis kept one hand on the wall as they ascended, a thin trail of blue sparks following in her wake like a sparkling ribbon of light. Peter looked slowly upwards at the distant light they were heading towards.

  
Gamorra saw his look and smiled encouragingly at him. “Mantis directed us down this crevice when we first came to find you.” she said bracingly. “We were lucky to find her. Otherwise I’m not sure if we could have made it straight down to the core so quickly.”

“Yeah…” Peter said thickly. “Lucky…”

They made it to the surface without a single thing going wrong. Meredith appeared on the planet’s surface, ready to greet them and explained the situation with their Ravager allies. Peter didn’t catch much, but apparently Yondu was _not_ going to either beat him to death or eat him this time, so things were pretty okay. Peter looked up at the throbbing sound of huge engines. The large Ravager ship loomed above the lip of the crevice, Yondu and Kraglin dimly visible in the cockpit. Rocket’s comm crackled and Yondu was yelling something about stayin still so Kraglin could get his newfangled beaming device goin. Basically he wanted them to stay in the line of sight.

For once, Peter’s crew followed simple instructions. Even Meredith stood still, gazing up at the ship that would get her son off this planet and get him to the help he needed.

They should have known _something_ would go sideways at the last possible second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	32. Resurgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SERIOUSLY?!

The dust storm, when it started, wasn’t very large. Peter was the first to notice it—mostly because he was staring dully at the ground. Even then, he didn’t think much of it at first. Gravel and dirt swirled past Peter’s ankles, then his knees as Rocket and Groot beamed aboard the ship. Drax and Mantis went next, Mantis nervously hoping that Jason would stay asleep if she left the planet’s surface. Meredith reassured her, saying that she could help keep Jason busy long enough for them to get a good head start.

Besides, there were only five minutes left on the timer.

It wasn’t that bad. In five minutes, the planet would be glowing motes of dust floating through space and time. In five minutes, this would all be over.

Peter and Gamorra had even made it on board the Ravager ship.

As Gamorra helped him limp off the landing pad, Peter couldn’t help but think they’d gotten off pretty easily.

Then a sudden roar shook the air around them, and the Ravager ship shuddered as if it’d been struck. As it listed heavily to one side, Peter staggered out of Gamorra’s grip and fell smack into Yondu, who grabbed him by the arm and held on like grim death. Peter blinked stupidly at the Ravager captain, who growled and tightened his grip.

“Whas—“ Peter started to say, but then broke off, staring out the viewscreen. Then he screamed, his voice sounding a lot younger than it should have.

_**“MOM!”** _

****

Still on the planet’s surface, Meredith grimly acknowledged things weren’t looking so good. Too late, she realized a slight flaw in her plan.

She was the mother of a half-Celestial. So she had some power on the planet. But that also meant that the planet had some power over _her_.

“ _Crap_ ,” she hissed, tugging at the thin blue tendril that had speared her ethereal form through one palm. “Crapcrapcrapcrap ** _crap_**!”

A dusty figure began to materialize in front of her. It wore the blurred features of the handsome, roguish man from the stars she’d fallen in love with, all those years ago. But there was nothing charming about him now.

“I suppose I have to thank you, Meredith.” it said, the voice smooth and only slightly glitching. “Without you, I wouldn’t have Peter.” He gestured at her hand. “Or the energy to keep him here.”

“You still don’t.” she snapped, burning at the twisting tendril with her own emerald fire. The figure in front of her smiled indulgently.

“Oh?”

Meredith whipped her head around and stared, horrified, at the listing Ravager ship. Another elongated tendril had smacked it in the side, and started tugging it down towards the planet’s surface. She snarled at her former lover.

“You don’t have the strength to keep a single living soul here.” she sneered. “What on earth makes you think you can drag down an entire Ravager ship?”

Jason shrugged. “I can’t. Which is why I targeted the engines.”

Meredith swallowed hard as the thin tendril darted in and out of the ship above her, yellow flames and smoke licking out of the engine rooms. The ship groaned, tilted, then smashed hard onto the planet’s surface.

Jason’s smile widened. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to drag my son out of there and bring him back where he belongs.” He all but purred. “And the Expansion will be complete.” He studied her out of the corner of his sand-shifting eyes. “Thank you for your sacrifice.” he said sweetly.

Meredith snarled. “I,” she said, as calmly as she could, “am gonna kick your ass so _hard_ when I get free—“

Jason snickered. “Good luck. Your return to the other world is dependent on my defeat, yes?”

He saw the stricken look in her eyes and snickered. “Thought so. Well, at least you and Peter can be together again. With me. And the Expansion. Won’t that be nice.”

“We’ll figure out a way to stop you.” she said quietly. “We won’t be yours forever.”

Jason’s smile was more of a line. “I wouldn’t count on that.” He said, and the utter sincerity in his voice made Meredith’s heart shiver. Not for herself, but for her son.

“I have a few ideas on what to do with your brat.” Jason continued. “I think I’ll start with his amygdala.” He tapped his own head. “You know. The part of the Terran brain that controls fear?” His sand eyes all but glittered. “I wonder if he’ll be so funny after a few millennia in constant agony. Enduring mindless terror, screaming at everything he sees…”

Meredith swore at him and tried blasting him with her green fire. It was weak and fading. Damn energy drain.

Jason snorted. “It’ll be quite the family reunion.” he said snidely. “Never thought to have you as part of it, but I must say I’m looking forward to us all being—“

A sudden blast of blue fire engulfed him from above and he stopped talking, the roar of the flames mingling nicely with his own.

 _ **“NOT INTERESTED!!”**_ Their son’s voice shouted, and Meredith caught the faintest glimpse of his too-bright eyes as he descended. He did a sort of flip as he neared her, and he stopped dousing his progenitor with fire long enough to reach out and clumsily yank the energy tendril out of her hand. She noticed he kept his own feet off the ground, and swiftly rose to meet him. Together, they hovered a few feet above the planet’s surface.

What was left of Jason looked up at them and screamed.

A blast of blue fire rocketed out of her son’s palm. Emerald lightning screamed from her own.

Jason disappeared in a pleasingly bright bloom of multi-colored flame. Meredith spared a quick, searching glance at her son, but the dust and wind swirling around them made it hard to see him clearly.

“Here’s the plan!” he yelled, pointing first down at the ground and then over at the ship. “You do the Mantis thing and keep him down long enough for the bomb to go off. I’ll get the ship off the ground before that happens!”

Meredith stared concernedly at him and flicked a bolt of emerald fire down at the still writhing figure on the ground. “Peter—what about you?”

Peter shrugged impatiently and headshot Jason when he tried to get up. “I got my spacesuit and my jetpack. I’ll meet up with ‘em in space. The life support isn’t out, just the engines. They’re shredded, no way ta repair em in time. I gotta push it out of atmosphere before the planet goes boom.”

“But you’ll need an insane amount of power to do that.” Meredith worried. Peter’s face was dirty and tired, but he grinned all the same. “Good thing I’m half-god, then.”

Meredith fought to keep a reluctant smile from her own face. “All right. But Peter—“ she grabbed at his sleeve as he turned to go. “You have to promise me you’ll be out of atmosphere too when the bomb goes off. You promise?”

Peter hesitated for just a second. “Uhhhhh…yeeeeeaaaaaaaah I promise.” Meredith would have pressured him further on this, but Jason’s roar sounded below them and three thready but angry tendrils shot up towards her and her son. Meredith summoned green lightning into her palms. _“Go!”_ she shouted. But he’d already turned and rocketed back towards the fallen Ravanger ship.

Meredith glared at the incoming spears of light.

“ _This,_ ” she snarled, “is for taking me from my son, you sonofa—“

The first tendril reached her, tried going for her right eye. Green light and a faint burning smell sparked upwards into the dark, swirling clouds.

The second tendril tried to grab her as well, the third dodging around her and streaking towards Peter.

Green lightning, as a rule, isn’t something that happens. You certainly never see green lightning storms crack across a planet’s entire sky.

Unless you were on planet Ego that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	33. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted more awesome Yondu....well...here it is....
> 
> :'/

A short while later, Meredith Quill finished electrocuting the Celestial who’d killed her and then tried to kill her son. That bastard was not going to be reforming again before the bomb went off. She’d made sure of that.

Five times.

Finally, as the dust storm settled, she looked round.

A huge screaming noise of tortured metal and shrieking sound echoed up into the storming night sky. Several hundred yards away, she saw the Ravager ship, shining in the sudden rainstorm, start to shudder and shake, rising from its deep crater. Blue light was steadily gathering underneath it, pushing it up and out, steadily raising it towards the pouring sky and the empty fields of space beyond it. Well, the mostly empty space beyond it. Meredith frowned as she noticed a particularly nasty asteroid field out just beyond the planet’s atmosphere. As if things weren’t difficult enough already. She looked back at her son, and felt her heart stop.

He’d suddenly dropped to his knees and started fumbling at his shoulder. She began to rush towards him, her whole being intent on the small figure backlit by the glowing azure energy pushing his friends towards safety. Just before she reached him, she saw him rip something off his shoulder and let it fall to the ground. The thin metal ovals dropped heavily from his hand and cracked as they hit the wet rocks. Meredith’d been a fraction of a second too late to stop them. They slipped through her immaterial fingers and snapped into bits as they hit the shining stones.

 _“Peter!”_ she sobbed, dropping to her own knees beside him. “Why on _earth_ did you take off your jet pack? Your spacesuit!” She already knew why. As she’d run towards him, she’d seen him draw back one arm, then punch it hard into the deepening mud. Then he’d done the the same with his other arm. His hands were stuck now, buried up past the wrists in wet silt and sliding sand. He looked blearily up at her.

“The packets were blockin the energy too much.” he slurred. “Couldn’t move the ship enough.” Even as she watched, he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Above them, the Ravager ship accelerated towards the stormy sky. The massive ship glowed molten-white and steamed as it sped into the sky, first up through the stormclouds, then straight through the asteroid field. The steadily shrinking ship spun out and up towards the distant pinpricks of stars.

Meredith’s eyes focused on a half-cracked timer her son had on his wrist. Even though it was half-buried in sand, she could still make out the ticking numbers. Her eyes widened. Seconds slowed. She felt the wet earth begin to tremble underneath them.

“Peter.” she said slowly. “They’re still able to beam you back on board. Aren’t they?”

Peter’s eyes had dulled. He hung his head and didn’t answer. Her own voice grew scared, a little strained. “Peter!”

“I…” he cleared his throat before answering. “I mighta…kinda…have broke it…when I left.”

Meredith choked back a sob. Her son continued, still unable to meet her eyes. “Uh…and before you ask, Yondu didn’t let me. I kinda punched him in the jaw. And I kicked Kraglin in the knee. I feel real bad about that.” he said, as if to himself.

Meredith forced herself not to cry. He was in enough pain already. Her voice did wobble, though. “What about the Guardians?”

Peter wagged his wet head from side to side. “Uhhhhhh, they were kinda under the impression that I was still in the med bay.” His eyes flicked up and he caught her glance. His face reddened and stared back at the soaking wet ground. “I was.” he said, voice trying to be conciliatory and failing miserably. “I just…sorta…well, I kinda just grabbed this energy shot we use for doubleshifts and uh, ran back to the transporter. And sorta knocked out the guys that were there. And shot the controls to pieces as I went. Ya know. So Gamorra or Drax or Rocket or the other guys couldn’t do anything stupid. If they’d come…with me…Jason woulda just…uhn…ya know, _eaten_ em as a snack…”

Meredith forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand and ask the important questions. She already knew why he’d done it. He’d been trying to save his friends. And her. He’d known what he was doing, what was going to happen to him. Her boy wasn’t stupid. Crazy, sometimes, reckless, often.

But never stupid.

“What does the energy shot do?” she asked. She started freeing his hands from the deep mud. Asking questions and working on freeing his wrists wouldn’t really help him now. Nothing would. But if she kept him talking, maybe the rapidly diminishing seconds on his timer wouldn’t scare him. Not as badly as they did her. They finished pulling his hands from the muck and he sat back on his heels, rubbing one wrist automatically.

She repeated her question. He blinked at her dazedly. Then it registered. “Oh, the energy shot. Well, it’s somethin I made up when I was like, fifteen. It usually keeps ya awake if yer body’s shuttin down from not gettin enough sleep. Thought it would help me finish this, and so far it— ** _ngh_** —“

His voice cut off and he fell backwards, his back arching so badly only his wet hair and his muddy boots touched the surface of the planet. Meredith shrieked and reached for him, caught hold of his red coat, dragged him to her and tried to help him, tried to think of something she could do. Nothing she thought of worked. What seemed an eternity later—but according to his timer, only a few minutes—the spasm subsided and he lay there on his back, staring up at the grey sky, gasping for breath.

He rolled one glazed eye up at her, tried to smile. “Uh…mebbe tha’ energy shot wasn’t such a good idea if I’ve got…uh…space tetanus, huh?”

She blinked through her tears. “Space tetanus?”

He shrugged. “Ya know. Tetanus. But in…space.”

She fought down an almost hysterical urge to simultaneously laugh and sob. She gathered him in close and cradled him in her arms, the way she had when he was little. She hated seeing him _hurt_ like this. Rain pelted down, soaked his clothes, plastered his hair to the top of his head. Thick drops dripped down his face, trickled and ran down it in gritty, bloody rivulets. The storm muddied the earth around them to thick and nasty sludge, the storming clouds above them blocking out even the faint light from the distant stars.

It was a miserable place to be.

And on top of everything else, her son was burning up. His half-open eyes were unhealthily bright, and his rain-drenched skin was far too warm to the touch.

They didn’t say anything for awhile. When Peter spoke next, his words were small, and hard to hear over the driving rain.

“Mom…”

“Yes, darling?”

“…is it gonna…hurt?”

She blinked, realized what he was asking.

“No.” she soothed. She held him tighter, feeling him start to shake again. With all her heart, she wished this wasn’t happening. It wasn’t supposed to. He had _so_ much left to do. And he had so _many_ people who still needed him here on this side. The actual truth was, Meredith Quill wanted her son back very badly. In fact, part of her selfishly wanted to snatch him, to grab him back and grab him back _now_. But her mind flew to the motley crew on the Ravager ship. To the gruff captain, the dirty pirates, the cranky raccoon, the little dancing twig, the hulking literalist, the shy child. Last of all, she thought of the green-skinned girl with the cybernetic scars and the deep, dark eyes.

There were so _many_ things her son hadn’t done yet. So many things he was _needed_ for. Vague, looming stories with desperate and far-reaching consequences if he wasn’t there to be in them. She really hadn’t thought his story would end here. But she didn’t know all things.

“No, Peter.” she soothed again, hoping he wasn’t scared. She knew he was, but all the same she tried to reassure him. “Dying doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Yeah…” he said slowly. “I m—m—mean, s—space tetanus does. But d—d—dyin itself…probably n—n—not.”

She tried for a joke. “Of the two of us, which one of us has died and should know?”

He snickered a little at that. “Y—y—you have.” Then his snicker faded. Real fear and pain crept into his voice.

“…’m…’m s—s—scared, Mom.” he said. “What if—what if I don’t—“

His lungs failed him and he was barely able to gasp the next words—

“—don’t—don’t end up where y—y—you are?”

Meredith kissed the top of his head protectively. “Don’ be silly.” she said, quite matter-of-factly. “When you die—and I’m not saying it’s today—I’ll be waiting, right there, when you arrive. Don’t you _dare_ forget that. And don’t you _dare_ be late.”

He nodded, once, tried to look back up at her, tried to say something else. But he didn’t speak again. He couldn’t. The spasms had come back full force now, and he was shaking too hard, curling in on himself in pain. Meredith felt her own eyes fill with angry, heartbroken tears. Her brave little boy was burning up and shaking apart in cold rain and thick mud, and all she could do was _watch_.

Meredith held him closer and closed her eyes. She hoped he could hear her next words.

“Peter, my little Star-Lord.” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

His timer shrilled a warning. Around them, the sodden earth groaned and began to crumble away, huge chunks falling into the crevices around them. Shards of rock began to stick out of the planet’s surface, gouts of flame shooting up and steaming as they met the falling rain. The noise was hellish, the destruction indescribable.  
Meredith pressed her lips tight together and clutched her son closer to her. Jason’s core wasn’t entirely destroyed yet. Her own energy was fading now too, but she didn’t have to leave. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t leave Peter to—

A sudden streak of light, cutting through the clouds of billowing smoke. A figure, rocketing through the rain and chaos of destruction like a meteor.

If a meteor wore Ravager garb.

And had a red fin on its head.

Meredith stared. For the briefest of seconds, the thought flashed across her mind that she didn’t _have_ to _do_ anything. All she had to do was wait a few more seconds. Peter wasn’t even shaking any more, and she could literally see a fault line cracking its way toward them, gaping wider as it spread. A few more seconds. Then her son would be with her, whole and laughing, and he would never hurt again, and they could be together on the other side of eternity forever—the galaxy could work out its _own_ fracking problems for _once_ —

“PETER!!” the figure above them bellowed, hovering and looking wildly about. ** _“PETER!!”_**

Meredith recognized the frantic, almost mindless desperation in that voice. Once, when he was very little, Peter toddled away from the yard where he’d been playing. The next five minutes trying to find him had been the worst of Meredith’s entire life—brain cancer and chemo included. She’d finally found him trying to pet the most dangerous dog in the neighborhood, and only her lightning fast reflexes and a flying snatch-grab had saved her laughing little baby from getting bit in the face.

Mercenary, pirate, and and Ravager he might be, but Yondu Udonta’s voice echoed with the same terror and fear of loss.

Meredith screamed up at him. **_“HERE!”_** she screamed, waving her hand. **_“HERE! HERE! HERE!”_**

Yondu’s head whipped round and he saw them. He rocketed towards them at the speed of sound and snatched Peter up by the shoulders, dragging him up and away from the gaping chasm that had started to yawn just under Peter’s feet. Meredith darted after the two flying figures, increasing her speed until she was flying on Peter’s other side.

“He doesn’t have a spacesuit!” she screamed over the sound of the roaring wind.

Behind his own mask, Yondu nodded, once, and dove a hand deep into the pocket of his long red overcoat. He flicked out a spacesuit packet and slapped it onto her son’s shoulder, activating it as they shot through the stormy clouds and kept rocketing towards the upper regions of the sky. Struck by a sudden thought, Meredith looked intently over at Yondu. His own mask—much like Peter’s collapsible one—seemed older, somehow. Less able to function in the further reaches of space. Meredith watched, horrified, saw ice began to form between the thin ridges of the mask, starting to spread and crack it apart even as she watched.

 _“Yondu!”_ she cried, sudden terror thickening her voice. “Stop! Stop flying, _stop right now_!”

Yondu shook his head and kept flying. His voice sounded strained behind the ventilator of the mask. “Can’t. We’re still too close to the surface. Gotta get clear.”

He was right, of course. The thermal bloom from the planet’s explosion was hard on their heels. She could see the soles of Peter’s boots beginning to glow, for heaven’s sake. And now they were entering the asteroid field. Stopping wasn’t an option. But neither was—

“You’ll _die_!” she said, and was surprised to hear her voice breaking. She thrust a hand up to her eyes, angrily wiping tears away. “Peter won’t be able to handle that!” she said, almost fiercely. “You think of another way to save him right _now_ , you hear me, Yondu Udonta? You are _not_ allowed to—“

She stopped suddenly. From behind his cracking mask, the Ravager captain shot her a wide grin that crinkled the very corners of his eyes. He finished activating the second spacesuit packet on his own shoulder, adjusted his grip on Peter’s limp arm, and winked at her.

“Aw hell, ma’m,” he drawled, “you think I only carry _one_ of those around wit’ me? I always have at least one extra of everythin'.”

Meredith was so surprised—and relieved—she nearly flew straight through an asteroid.

Yondu chuckled at that and veered hard to the right, aiming for the Ravager ship that waited for them just outside the asteroid field.

“ ‘bout the only thing I don’t have with me,” he said meditatively, “is any krutakin’ _tape_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bows deeply, grinning widely* 
> 
> Heh. You're welcome.
> 
> (As always, reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	34. How To Solve The Gordian Knot of Xandarian Paperwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Broker has certain, previously unrevealed skills. Just let him use them. It's so much easier. 
> 
> For you.

The Broker—who declined to tell anyone but those he held in deepest respect his actual name was Krystian—tapped a finger impatiently against one elbow. This was taking forever.

He cast a cool look over at the Nova Corps official currently flicking through multiple screens on her tablet, and coughed, once.

She did not look up. He coughed, discreetly, again. From behind her severe-looking spectacles, cold dark eyes flicked up, met his own inquiring glance. Then, silently, deliberately, she turned them back to her blinking screen.

Krystian cleared his throat. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he said pointedly, “perhaps we could speed things along? I may be mistaken, but judging from the chaos currently raging over the communication system, I would say that our allies are in some distress.”

The transportation official—whose thin name badge read “R. Nyrin”—spared him a flat glance. “Ravagers.” she sniffed. “They’re always in some sort of distress.”

Krystian inclined his head politely. As a matter of course, he found that agreeing with people—particularly those in power—whenever he could tended to make roads smooth that otherwise could have proved rocky. But in this particular instance, he found his usual approach vaguely…dissatisfying.

He tried to smile thinly. “In this particular case,” he observed, “I’d say their distress is justified. Perhaps you missed the reason for their garbled communication—I barely heard it myself—but seems that Star-Lord is gravely injured and in dire need of the best medical equipment and expert medical assistance.” He made a self-deprecating little gesture. “Granted, it’s been some time since I served in the Fleet, but I’m happy to offer what assistance I can.” His voice turned acidic. “Once I am allowed to do so, that is.”

Nyrin looked up from her tablet again and gave him an empty smile. “Just protocol, sir. Typically hostile ship, drifting in space, barely escaped the destruction of a malignant planet. Probably infested with all sorts of hazardous growths. Decontamination before docking is, as you now, standard procedure.”

Krystian _did_ know. He’d helped _write_ the flarging manual she was referencing. But the manual had never been intended to obstruct aid to those in need. He took in a slightly deeper breath than usual and maintained his calm tone. With an effort.

“Indeed.” he murmured. He gestured—quite casually, he thought—at the nearby medical shuttle. “I am prepared to board their ship. Alone, if necessary. But I do require equipment slightly more advanced than a scalpel.”

She shrugged one shoulder, scanning her tablet again. “Top-of-the-line medical shuttles are expensive.” she said absently. “We need to be sure it won’t be damaged when you dock with them.”

Krystian took a deep breath, then another. He felt one of his white, bristling eyebrows begin to twitch, but forced the old reflex away. “I see.” he said neutrally. He tried his last card. “I’m sure Nova Prime would make an exception in this case.” he said, trying to sound friendly. “Since it is Star-Lord.”

Nyrin looked blankly up at him. “Who?”

Krystian blinked indignantly, then remembered his preferred modus operandi. “Star-Lord. The boy is, to all appearances, _dying_.” She looked blank. Krystian’s own smile became markedly more forced. “The Ravager who helped save Xandar from Ronan the Accuser not four months ago.” he all but growled. She blinked, recognition flooding into her eyes.

“Oh.” she said, her tone disdainful. “Peter Quill.” She looked back down at her tablet, idly flicked through another screen. “I was off-world at the time. The small time petty criminal who doesn’t take anything seriously? I’ve heard of him.”

Krystian found the sudden desire to wring her neck almost overwhelming. Typically he prided himself on his professional reserve, but the scorn and outright arrogance in her voice sickened him. Besides, her words were manifestly untrue. Krystian had been there when Ronan shattered the Nova Corps fleet. He’d been there when Ronan stepped forth from the shattered remains of his ship, and been moments away from annihilating everyone on the planet.

Then Peter Quill stepped in. Krystian had been as flummoxed as everyone else when the boy had challenged the blood-maddened terrorist to the strange Terran custom of a “dance-off”. The craziest thing was, it had worked. Various uppity officials—Krystian kept himself from glaring at the closest one with an effort—still declined to acknowledge the fact they owed the existence of their capital—and most likely their lives—to the small group of scruffy misfits led by an (intermittent) petty criminal.

But Krystian had seen the hard, set look in the boy’s eyes as he’d leapt for the Infinity Stone. He’d known what would happen once he touched it. (How Quill had not been instantly immolated still puzzled Krystian, and most of the medical staff on Xandar.)

But the boy had done it anyway. Saved everyone on Xandar—Krystian, his wife, his daughter, his three little granddaughters— _everyone_ on Xandar owed him their _lives_.  
And this prissy little flark was willing to let him _suffer_ —maybe let him _die_ —because she _couldn’t think outside a protocol rulebook_.

Krystian’s lips thinned, and he took matters into his own hands.

“It is an excellent shuttle.” he said, stepping back and eyeing it respectfully. He gestured gracefully towards the interior. “May I inspect it? I’m sure it has everything I need, but I like to be sure.” He smiled thinly. “Protocol, you see.”

She eyed him doubtfully. He put on his best professional, reassuring air. “Once I get the proper authorization,” he purred, “I’d like to be on my way as soon as possible.”

She puffed up a little at that, flicked a few bars on her screen. The doors hissed open, and Krystian made his leisurely way inside. He stepped into the sterile white shuttle, admiring the state-of-the-art equipment, the strong lighting, the rolls of tools and instruments, the well-stocked medical supplies and fully-charged portable devices. He quickly noted the various breathing machines stored against the walls, running their specifications with what he’d learned of Terran biology. Quickly—she’d be getting suspicious now—he turned and looked at the medical operating table in the center of the room, checked a few of the instrument drawers that slid out of it. Adequate. Quite adequate. He was not very familiar with this “tetanus” that the Ravagers had been shouting about, but he’d scanned through a few medical articles on his way down to the bay. And the data screens blinking cheerily from the corner of the shuttle would be an excellent resource as well.

Krystian nodded his head, smiled calmly out at the docking official. He made as if to come back out, then dropped the pen he’d been holding in his right hand. He bent to pick it up, and unforgivably set his other hand against the left panel of the door.

Which activated the locking mechanism and started the releasing process.

Nyrin looked sharply up at the sound of the catches releasing. Krystian had the small but genuine pleasure of seeing her drop the tablet and stare boggle-eyed at him.

He made a show of flapping his hands in distress and bustling around the cabin, uttering polite nothings such as—

“Oh dear, me, I am so sorry, my dear—wait, I’m sure I can fix this—let me see—ah, no, that wasn’t quite it, I seem to have accelerated the automatic release—ah, let me try this—“

Meanwhile, the state-of-the-art medical shuttle had started inching towards the opening bay doors. Outside, backlit against the bright swirls of a brilliant asteroid field, he could dimly see the hulking form of the Ravager ship.

Behind him, Nyrin blinked rapidly, then grabbed her lapel comm and started yipping into it. “Mr. Broker! Mr. Broker!” her voice buzzed over the intercom system. Krystian made his leisurely way over to it and picked it up in one calm hand.

“Mr. _Broker_!” she barked, her voice thin with panic. “I demand you stop the shuttle instantly and at once! You’re not cleared for departure yet! The decontamination process is not yet—“

Krystian smoothly cut her off. “I am so sorry, my dear, but I can’t seem to figure out _how_.” he said plaintively. He expertly flicked the necessary switches, then joggled a few unnecessary ones back and forth. That should make the lights flash worryingly and fruitlessly. He’d look like just another senile old fool who didn’t know how to fly. _Heh_. A snide voice in his head said. _You designed this krutaking thing_.

Krystian bit back a smile as Nyrin’s voice squawked over the comms.

“Sir!” she snapped again. “Just—just stop moving! I’ll send a crew to assist—“

“Oh, dear.” he said mournfully. “The controls have somehow switched to autopilot. Dear me. Now it is clipping along. Don’t trouble yourself, my dear, I’m sure the Ravagers can help me land. I’ll treat the patient there, and you can decontaminate the shuttle, if necessary, on my return.”

“Mr. Broker!” she gasped. “I demand that you immediately—“

“Ah, me, the comms. They are glitching. Wait—I think I can—oh, no, oh no, I think they are—“

_Click._

At the controls of the swiftly departing medical shuttle, Krystian allowed himself a brief sigh of relief and enjoyed the peace and quiet of the small ship.

  
He was unlikely to experience either of them again anytime soon. His inexperience with tetanus aside, his one thought as he flicked through the database, scanning symptoms and treatments, was that this was going to be a _very_ close run thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	35. Don't Go Breakin My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally or metaphorically, it's no fun for anyone. 
> 
> AKA Wherein Yondu is ready to rip out his headfin with worry, and Peter is a disoriented, adorable mess. FINALLY we begin, in earnest, the Father and Son feels, along with Team Feels!

As it turned out, Peter didn’t see his mom leave.

He’d tried to watch every move she made, had sworn to himself that this time, _this_ time, he wouldn’t be looking away when she left. But somewhere between hearing her laugh—God how he’d missed that laugh—somewhere between hearing her laugh when Yondu said something about tape—and then with all the noise and confusion that’d happened when they’d landed in one of the Ravager’s cargo bays…

…somewhere in that tiny chunk of time…she’d started to fade. Peter’d kept his eyes on her for as long as he could, willing her to stay, hoping she could.

But as the bay doors closed behind them, he could see the planet they’d left exploding even as he watched, chunks of rock the size of cities shooting out into space, burning and crumbling to dust from the light that had burned in its core. That light—Jason’s very life force—was currently exploding as well, fiery tendrils and dusty tails fading into the stars even as he watched.

When the light left, so would she. He strained his eyes to find her. Where was she? She’d been right at his side. Hey, where was he, for that matter.

Oh, he was lying on the floor of the cargo bay. When had that happened? Probably when they’d come in. Yondu hadn’t seemed hopeful Peter could make it to the med bay. In fact, Yondu didn’t sound happy at all. He was yelling stuff at the Ravagers around them about _medics, get them here, can’t move him, get the medics here now, now, now, now, now, now, NOW_.

Peter wished Yondu wasn’t yelling. It made his head hurt worse. He didn’t even care about moving, he just wanted to see his mom. Hey, there she was, just at his other side. She wasn’t paying any attention to Yondu’s hollering at all, instead was just looking down at him. She smiled tearfully, not saying anything, ran her fingers through his hair. Her lips moved a little, but he couldn’t hear the words. He could see and understand them, though.

_—love you, my little Star-Lord—_

He forced himself to speak too, voice rasping and hoarse. But she heard what he said. He knew she had. Because she’d smiled.

“—love you too, Mom—“

There, he’d said it, to her. Finally, when it really mattered. It’d only taken an alien abduction, twenty-some years, and two intergalactic catastrophes to fix his _krutakin_ mistake—

She stroked his hair again, the motion weaker this time, as if she was losing strength. The harsh light from the exploding planet was fading now too. He saw the bright yellow and deep red light rippling across the ceiling of the cargo bay start to die, deepen into blues and purples. Then even those started to darken slowly into black.

Mom noticed the changing light too. She looked quickly across Peter towards Yondu, who was looking intently back at her. Peter saw his mother say something to Yondu—he squinted—it looked like she’d said _Take care of him_ , and Yondu had nodded and said, _I will_ , then they both looked back down at him—

—Mom was looking a lot fainter now, but maybe that was just his headache—or the darkness stealing over the cargo bay—

She leaned over, kissed his forehead. He could barely feel her touch, almost couldn’t see her in the shadows of the ship. Now she was just a faint image, fading slowly away with the light. She still held his hands tightly between hers, though.

Then Peter felt her grasp start to slip.

“No…” he croaked, reaching out towards her, trying to keep her hand in his for as long as he could. He didn’t want her to go. He _didn’t_ —

Then he blinked.

And she was gone.

He’d known she couldn’t stay forever. He’d known that. She’d told him as much. But—but for just a second there, after he’d saved his friends, back on the planet, he’d thought that maybe—well, maybe this time, he’d get to go with her. That maybe today was that day.

Well. Apparently not.

Peter swallowed, felt great big tears start to well up at the corners of his eyes. He tried breathing in hard to keep them at bay, found he couldn’t. Oh and hey, great, the spasms were back. Incidentally, minor housekeeping tip, no one had cleaned this cargo bay floor in awhile. Like in years. Hmph, probably ever since _he_ was _twelve_ and Yondu’d made him sweep the _whole damn ship_ for trying out his rocket boots without waiting to hear the instructions first.

Just _how_ did Peter know how long’d it been? Because he’d done a _good job_ back then, _dammit_ , and _now_ there was junk _everywhere_ , and he’d smacked his head hard on a wrench or something else dull and hard that shifted, clanking, each time he jerked backwards. Adding insult to injury, his stupid head somehow managed to _keep hitting_ the _same_ piece of junk _each time_ he jerked back to the floor. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. **_Ow_**.

Above his head, Yondu swore, colorfully and violently. The hard, blunt thing Peter kept smacking his head against suddenly disappeared. A few seconds later, in the far distance, something clanged forlornly against more piles of miscellaneous articles. As something soft was slipped under his head, Peter dimly remembered Yondu had a pretty good throwing arm. He considered telling Yondu that. But his voice wasn’t working. Again.

Then the spasms ended. For an all too brief moment, blissful darkness snatched Peter away from everything that was happening. But then he drifted back awake, his body stubbornly refusing to go back to being unconscious. Unhappily dangling somewhere between merciful blackness and agonizing awareness, Peter realized two things.

One, was that he was very tired. Why, he wasn’t sure. Probably had to do with why he was on a floor, though.

The second thing was—even though the recent past was a confusing, melded, painful blur of images and sounds—Peter still knew something was way out of the ordinary. Something was wrong.

Oh! He remembered what it was. He reached out a hand—which inexplicably tired him very quickly—and tugged insistently at one of Yondu’s sleeves.

Yondu’s snaggle-toothed face instantly leaned over him, usually fierce expression strained and concerned.

“Wha is it, boyo? What’s tha matter?”

Peter blinked inquiringly up at him. “Where’s your—jacket?”

Yondu’s shoulders relaxed and he huffed out a breath through his nose. “Don’ worry about that.” he said brusquely. “You’ll be just fine. We’ll fix you right up.”

Peter pondered this strange line of thought as Yondu turned around and hollered something that sounded like _where are my damn medics_.

Peter frowned, wondering why Yondu needed certified medical professionals to search the ship for a _jacket_ , even a really cool one. Then he blinked as another thought crossed his mind. He looked down at his own chest to make sure, then tugged at Yondu’s frayed sleeve again. Yondu jumped and whipped his neck round so fast Peter was afraid his old captain might get whiplash.

_“What?!”_ Yondu gasped.

“ _I_ still have _my_ jacket.” Peter informed him. “I mean, ‘z wet—I musta been out in the rain or somthin, but yeah, _I_ still have _mine_ …” He looked down at it again, then back up at Yondu’s tense features. “ _My_ jacket’s fine, so it doesn’t need to be fixed.” He frowned. “But where’s _yours_?”

Yondu’s face twisted strangely, caught between intense worry and intense irritation. “Quill, stop asking after it, mah jacket’s fine.”

“But where is it?”

“Boyo, if you’re funnin me—“

Peter blinked again at that, offended. “I’m bein totally serious.” he said, noticing, almost academically, that his words were slurring together. “Why’re you so worried? I musta jus’ fell down. It’z not that bad. See, I can get up—“

Peter tried suiting his action to his word, but found Yondu’s rough blue hand pressing down hard on his sternum. Peter glared indignantly up at him. Yondu glared right back. “You,” he gritted out, “are gonna stay right here until we figure out what the actual _hell_ is wrong with you. An’ then how we can fix it.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, Yondu, it’s not that bad. What’d I do this time? It can’t be any worse than that time I was training and my rocket boots shorted out. I was only sixty feet off the ground, and I broke my fall with those railings, remember? This is nuthin. I feel great!”

Yondu was looking at him with something almost like fear in his eyes. “Iz that right.” he said slowly.

Peter scoffed, tried wiggling a little to dislodge Yondu’s hold on his sternum. It didn’t work, but he tried anway. He grinned goofily. “Well, nah, okay so I’m lyin, I actually don’t feel much of anythin, but that’z good, right?” Yondu didn’t answer. His dark blue skin suddenly took on a much paler shade. Peter quirked his mouth, puzzled.

“Why are you bein so serious?” he asked curiously. “You look like I’m dyin, or somethin.” He stopped short, cocked his head. “ _Am_ I dyin?” he wondered out loud. Yondu opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Naw.” he said weakly. “Yer fine. Just wanta make sure you’re all right to stand up, is all.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. For a man who made a living running, among other things, numerous petty cons, Yondu was a pretty terrible liar. Or else Peter just knew him really well. That was a weird thought.

Yondu swallowed hard. “How are you _really_ feelin, boyo?” he asked. His tone was almost gentle. Peter thought he must be hearing things wrong. His ears were buzzing hard enough.

Besides, Yondu never asked how he was feelin. Usually just told him to suck it up or get tougher. But now he was askin how he felt.

And…and honestly, Peter didn’t know how he felt. He felt weird, but he didn’t know why. He’d been shooting his mouth off like usual, but he’d just been trying to act like things were normal. He hoped maybe if he _acted_ normal, things _would_ be normal. But that whole lighthearted banter plan hadn’t worked the way he thought it would.

So Peter shrugged a little, feeling his head start to spin faster. Even though he was lying down. And his throat was scratchy, and his vision was all blurry, and the room was too hot. He closed his eyes. They felt hot too.

All of a sudden, he realized he _really_ wasn’t feeling good. But he didn’t want to tell Yondu that. Peter couldn’t see that there actually was anything wrong with him. He just felt weird. So he should, by all rights, be fine. And he really didn’t want to be whiny, or weak.

“Boyo, don’t you lie to me.”

The words were a rough warning, but Yondu sounded…well, his voice wasn’t as pissed off as usual. Peter thought that was strange. Maybe Yondu wouldn’t get mad if Peter told the truth. The last time Peter had tried to lie about a serious illness, he’d been thirteen, and gotten super painful complicated appendicitis as a reward for his wanna be stoicism. After the dubious joys of emergency surgery with not nearly enough anesthetic, he’d gotten a long, infuriated tongue-lashing from his captain as he lay sick in the med-bay. And then he’d heard the same lecture _again_ when he’d gotten _sepsis_.

So he probably should be honest now. He didn’t want that lecture a _third_ time. Not with his head poundin like this.

“Uh…” he mumbled. “I don’…um, I don’ feel too good.”

Yondu growled somewhere deep in the back of his throat. Peter cracked one eye open. “Hey, you said I shouldn’t lie. You’re not gonna get mad at me for tellin the truth, areya?” Suddenly, he found he cared if Yondu was mad at him. Which was just stupid. Of course Yondu was mad at him. Yondu was always mad at him. Above him, Yondu groaned in exasperation.

“I’m _not_ mad at you, boyo. ‘m not gunna hurt you, neither.”

Peter’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, something awful and scary tugging insistently at the back of his mind. Images and sounds started to filter in from out of the recent past.

“…you sure about that?” he asked weakly. Yondu went silent all of a sudden. Didn’t answer. Peter tried lifting his head to look at him. “Yondu…?” he rasped, blinking. Yondu wasn’t looking at him, had turned his eyes away from Peter. Peter didn’t understand why, and he didn’t like not understanding things. So he asked again. “Yond—“

Then the thuds of running feet shook the dirty floor beneath him and he painfully turned his head to look towards the sound. The people dashing into the bay weren’t medics. But he knew them. He knew them really well. Even if they were really blurry looking.

“…guys!” Peter said weakly. The tall green blob coming towards him went down on her knees and leaned a little closer towards him. A familiar beringed hand curled round his own and squeezed it reassuringly. Peter tried returning the gesture, but grimaced in annoyance when he found his grip was a lot weaker than usual. What the hell was going on here. And why wasn’t Yondu lookin at him anymore. Yondu’s turned away face reminded him of something. Something he couldn’t remember. But it was something bad. And scary. But he couldn’t—

Yondu’d started talking at the big grey blob.

“This all they sent you here with? A scanner and a kit? Where are my damn medics with all their stuff?”

“They are endeavoring to arrive. Jason’s attack on the ship and our sudden ascension into space caused much chaos and loss of order. I am surprised you do not recall this.”

“Of course I recall it! Are they comin or not?!”

“Yes, of course. But first they must retrieve the right equipment and medicines for treating Terrans from the chaos of the medical bay. It is very hard. There is not a lot of it. Also, your infirmary was confusing even before this ship tumbled end over end at the speed of sound.”

“Rgh, fine.” Then Yondu turned his head, judging from the way his voice faded towards one direction. “KRAGLIN!” he hollered. “How long ’til that damn Nova Corps sends us a med shuttle with some actual doctors on it?”

“Soon, Cap’n.” Another, familiar voice drifted in. “Some chick’s sayin something about decontamination procedures.”

Yondu cursed. “Hell, he don’ _have_ that kinda time. And we still can’t move him.”

Hearing this, Peter shrugged a little. As far as he knew, he did have the time. He didn’t have anything scheduled until sometime in the middle of next week. Unless he’d forgotten an important appointment. Or somebody’s birthday. He couldn’t remember. He should ask someone. Oh! Gamorra would know. He tried asking her.

“Gam—“ he started, but the green blob shook her head gently. “Don’t talk.” she soothed. “It’ll be all right. We’ll help you.”

Peter ground his teeth in frustration. “Why’z everyone keep tellin me not ta talk or do anythin? I’m _fine_.” he said, annoyed. Then abruptly found out he wasn’t when his entire body decided to suddenly arch backwards, his dirty boots kicking hard against the floor and his neck snapping painfully backwards and curving sharply, along with his spine, until all he could see were the doors of the cargo bay behind him. Gammora frantically tightened her grip on his hand. Or his own was just spasming.

Ugh, whatever. Didn’t matter, not really. Everything hurt. _Everything_. And even though they were all yellin his name, again, he couldn’t talk.

Peter stared out at the dark expanse of stars through the clear glass of the doors. Huh. He didn’t recognize any of those constellations. Oh. They were upside down. That probably didn’t help.

His muscles strained and twisted without any orders from him. Stupid mutinous muscles. His back hurt. A lot. His neck hurt even more. Everything _ached_ and every fiber in his being felt like it’d been doused in fuel and set on _fire_. He wanted to swear, try to relieve the pressure and the pain that way, but he couldn’t. Yondu swore enough for both of them, though.

In the midst of the pain, Peter was suddenly struck by a thought. How was it fair, he mused, that his friends could yell all they wanted—but _Peter_ was supposed to be quiet when he was dyin, huh? Who made _that_ rule?

A high-pitched voice, somewhere off to his left. Something dark blurring between him and the stars. Someone crashed down onto their knees behind his head, and small, cold hands grabbed both sides of his face. A thin little voice gasped, _“Stop!”_

Just like that, Peter’s muscles gave way, and he slammed back hard onto the floor, the dim, dark reaches of the ceiling above him shooting back into his vision and taking the place of the stars. For a moment—just a moment—everyone stopped yelling. Part of Peter’s mind wanted to take advantage of the lull in the conversation. It wanted to politely cough and, without further ado, launch into a loud and impassioned rant asking if they could possibly _flarging STOP yelling at him, cuz HE didn’t know what the hell was going on EITHER—_

—but the rest of him was too busy gasping in greedy gulps of air to give a damn about telling them off. His vision blotted and blurred, and he shut his eyes again to try and stop the spinning in his head. Besides, he wasn’t really angry at them. He was just scared. And wet and cold and hurt. And scared.

Ugh, more people talking again. Couldn’t they just take their own advice and shut _up_?

“Oh!’ the thin little voice gasped. “Oh! _Oh!_ Something is very wrong with Peter! His heart is hurting!”

“Of course his heart is hurting metaphorically.” Drax responded, grave kindness in his voice. One of the small hands on Peter’s face shifted a little, and Peter could imagine Drax dropping a heavy, yet kindly hand on the girl’s little shoulder. “He has had a very emotionally draining day. Almost five days, if you account for the time that passed for him on that planet.”

“No, no, no, that is not what I mean!” Mantis cried. “Something is literally wrong with Peter’s heart! Rocket, use the scanner, please! And hurry! We do not have much time!”

A faint beeping sound dimly made it through Peter’s muffled hearing. It took him longer than usual to register the faint, warm sensation of the small, rectangular scanner’s light running its way over his chest. He cracked one eye open and saw Rocket’s furry profile not ten inches away, intently studying the scanner’s screen.

Then the beeping sound shrilled as it neared the center of Peter’s chest, and Rocket snarled, turning the screen around and shoving it over at Yondu’s face.

“—KNEW he didn’t cure everythin, that sonofabitch left one last arrow shard in there as his failsafe kill switch, I just found it, it’s RIGHT by Petey’s krutakin HEART—just sittin there—Petey, whatever you do, don’t you move no more, or I swear on my life that I’ll _kill_ ya—“

Peter snorted at that. He didn’t understand half of what Rocket was screaming, but he knew enough to slur his next reply. “…didn’t plan on movin anytime soo—”

He stopped, suddenly. Something in the haze of pain that was his body had sharpened, slicing into his awareness. Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Somethin wasn’t… wasn’t good…

Gamorra’s hand tightened on his. Or his had tightened on hers. “Mantis,” Gamorra said warningly, “I think he’s going to start spasming again, how long can you keep that from happening?”

Mantis’ voice was teary, breaking from bone-deep exhaustion and pain. “I—I do not—I do not know. I cannot even make him sleep now—I can only keep the spasms away…at least for now…I am sorry, I—I am trying my best—“

Drax rumbled out over them all. “Do not be sorry, Mantis, aid is on its way. All we must do is hold our positions until the Nova Corps and their medical personnel arrive. They will know how to extract the shard from our friend. And stop these worrisome convulsions. And help him breathe correct—“

Peter snickered a little at Drax’s attempt at comfort, then broke off as another stabbing pain shot through him. What the _hell_ was going—

“IamGrootIamGrootIAMGROOT!” The little tree sounded scared. Perched worriedly on Rocket’s shoulder, he was jabbing his little finger towards the screen still clutched in Rocket’s hand. Rocket looked down at it again. His ensuing shriek of panic started with a word Peter couldn’t even pronounce, but the absolute terror in his friend’s voice cut Peter right to the heart.

No, wait, that wasn’t…it…somethin else was…was hurting him…literally, not metaphorically…

“—morra…” Peter’s own voice barely made it out of his throat, but what there was of it was thick and scared. “…morra, sumthin’s…wrong…” Then the pain increased fourfold and he broke off, gasping.

He opened his eyes, tried to find her through the dark clouds dimming his vision. Caught a faint glance of her pale face and her eyes, too large and too scared in her face. She did have pretty eyes, though. Had he told her? He thought he had. He wanted to—but—

—but his chest hurt too much to talk—

—and Rocket was yellin somethin about flarging kill switches—

—and Rocket was shoving the screen over at Yondu again, screaming words that sounded like _it was your krutakin sonic arrow, Udonta, why is it movin, why’d it START MOVIN LIKE THAT, what’s it doin, what do we do, what do we do, what do we do?!! HURRY UP AN’ TELL US!!“_

Peter didn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t understand why Yondu was lookin desperately out at the cargo bay doors, out at where there _weren’t_ any ships coming towards them. He didn’t understand why, when Yondu looked back at Peter, he’d gone completely pale, and his red eyes were expressionless and his voice was flat.

“Hold ‘im still.”

Above him, Gammorra protested. “Shouldn’t we wait—“

Yondu cut her off, anger bleeding into his words. “We don’t got _time_ , girl. That shuttle ain’t comin, an’ if it is, it ain’t gonna get here fast enough. So hold ‘im _still_.”

Yondu stared down at Peter. “Don’t talk, boyo. Don’t say nuthin.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	36. The Deepest Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dubious joys of emergency surgery without (any) anesthetic. Especially if the patient has no idea what the _hell_ is going on. 
> 
> AKA 
> 
> THIS is the worst part of the entire day for pretty much _everyone_.

Peter didn’t understand what was going on.

He didn’t think he was going to like it, though. Mantis’ hands trembled on his temples, and Gamorra’s fingers curled painfully around his own before she suddenly released them and moved back. Yondu had let go of Peter’s shoulder earlier, and was now tugging something off his own wrist. Rocket moved out of Peter’s sight and towards Yondu, the scanner still faintly visible and shaking a little in his trembling claws.

Suddenly, grimy floor panels shook by his head, and the big grey blob from before loomed over him. It materialized into Drax, whose eyes—rather too kind to belong to a dude with the last name Destroyer—looked sick.

“I am deeply sorry for this, friend Quill. I swear this is for your own good.” he said. Peter blinked in confused apprehension as he realized Drax was shifting his position until he knelt astride him. Then Drax took gentle but firm hold of Peter’s shoulders and pressed them down until they were flat against the ground. Peter grimaced uncomfortably at this and tried shifting away. Drax also grimaced, but did not let him move. Not even a little bit.

Peter swallowed hard, found his voice. “The actual _hell_ , guyz,” he said weakly, “whas’ goin—“

Fiery pain sliced through him and a hand clamped over his mouth, hard, stifling him mid-word. Peter jerked in surprise and pain, his eyes darting upward to meet Yondu’s grim gaze.

“Ah said, don’t say nuthin.” Yondu hissed. “You _can’t_ —”

Peter didn’t _care_ what he ‘couldn’t’ do. He tried instinctively to shake Yondu’s hand off his face. It didn’t work. He grunted again, in frustration this time, and sudden, awful agony flared up inside his chest, so bad Peter couldn’t see or think for a minute. When he could, he realized someone had wedged a thick strap of leather between his teeth and over his tongue. And that Yondu’s hand was the one drawing away.

Peter stared at him for a second, then twisted his head, trying to dislodge the strap, tried pushing it out with his tongue or spitting it out onto the floor. But he couldn’t. It was too firmly placed. And Drax refused to take it out either, or let go of his shoulders, even when Peter glared up at him. His big friend just blinked hard, but refused to look away.

“This is for your own good.” he said again. Peter narrowed his eyes and debated flipping him off, but realized Gamorra had renewed her grip on one of his hands, and that Yondu was squeezing the other, though he seemed to be checking Peter’s pulse instead of holding it reassuringly.

Speaking of Yondu….Peter stewed inwardly for a moment. This whole leather strap thing wasn’t really _necessary_. Yondu was just bein a _jerk_. Fine, then, _be_ that way, you ugly old blue _bastard_.

Peter glared at him, hard, once, to make his point, then rolled his eyes over to look at Gamorra. She looked back at him, her expression anguished. He blinked pointedly at her. She swallowed hard and looked about to say something. Then she closed her mouth and shook her head.

He didn’t know what she meant, exactly, but it was very clear what she was going to do about this.

Not a damn thing.

Fine, then, he didn’t need _her_ either.

He swallowed, forced himself to ignore how terrible that thought made him feel, and decided to tell her _all right then, fine, if she wanted ta be that way, that was just fine by him, whatever, who cared_. He tried telling her so, but he couldn’t make a sound. No matter how hard he worked at it.

God _dammit_. Now he was just _pissed_.

Yondu was saying something about _holding him still, now, they were **out** of **time**_ , and Drax’s thick fingers pressed harder on his shoulders and Mantis held his head tighter in her hands. Peter forgot about telling Gamorra what a bad friend she was and tried getting up, tried fighting. He was _trapped_ and _weak_ and _helpless_ in his current position, and he _did not like it_.

Why were they doing this? He tried asking them, he really did, but he couldn’t make any of them hear him and they wouldn’t meet his eyes—

—so they didn’t answer—

—so he didn’t know—and couldn’t find out—

—ngh, this wasn’t _fair_ , he hadn’t _done_ anything wrong, all he’d tried doing was _talking_ , which wasn’t that _bad_ —

—he’d done it before—

—why were they _doing_ this, what had he _done_ —

Peter tried kicking, tried to do something to get away and get _free_ , and mindless panic finally clawed through him as he realized someone had already grabbed hold of his legs and forced them down to the floor of the cargo bay. Peter caught sight of a tattooed head over the ridge of Drax’s shoulder. Kraglin, probably. And what the hell had he _ever_ done to Kraglin? Wait, better not ask that question. To be fair, he had puked all over Kraglin one time. Although that’d been, like, almost thirty years ago, and he’d just been abducted from Earth, and Kraglin had just shrugged and brushed his coat off and said not to worry about it—

—and—

—and—

—speaking of worrying—

— ** _shit_** he really couldn’t get free, they really weren’t letting him, he really was **_trapped_** —

—and Gamorra was looking really scared right now—her mouth was moving but he couldn’t understand what she was saying—

—and there was this sound cutting over everything—a thin sound, a familiar sound—what was it—

Then his chest was on _fire_. He thought it’d hurt before, but he’d been wrong. Those pains had been _twinges_ compared to what _this_ was.

He tried screaming, but the sounds strangled before they came out, and it only ended up making his panic worse. Gamorra tried to hold his hand, but he jerked his hand out of hers and gripped the grating beneath him instead, feeling the wires dig painfully into his fingers. He couldn’t feel his other hand, it’d gone numb, he didn’t remember when, and the fingers wouldn’t even work. He tried twisting to throw Drax off him and tried telling him he was **big** and **fat** and _needed to **get off him** **now** , dammit_, but Drax just increased the pressure instead. As for Mantis, well, that little kid had a death grip on his skull. He switched his glare from Drax up to her, and felt a wild stab of irrational guilt as her face crumpled and tears began to fall from her eyes. He blinked in annoyance as they fell onto his upturned face. The kid might have been sobbing something, but he couldn’t make out the words. Urgh, whatever, it wasn’t _important_. The important thing was that they had to _let him go_.

An’ still nobody was _listenin_ ’ to him.

A flash of white and black near Mantis caught his eye, and he briefly glimpsed Rocket’s trembling face peeking out at him from behind the girl’s shoulder. Peter grunted harder, looked imploringly up at him, but Rocket just hunched as if he’d been struck, shuddered, and then turned away. Straight up turned _away_ from him. Peter swallowed hard at that. What a jackass. He’d—he’d thought that _Rocket_ , of all people, would help him get out of something like _this_.

He blinked rapidly, tried frantically casting his eyes around for his last teammate. He didn’t see where Groot had got in the confusion. Probably wasn’t even here. And screaming for his help was off the table, obviously. Peter glowered at the ceiling for a second, breathed in hard through his nose, ran over his options in his mind.

After a couple of seconds, he forced himself to slow his movements, making them weaker, intermittent. Then he let himself sag, as if his attempts at escape had tired him out. Then, suddenly, sharply, without warning, he tensed every muscle he could and pushed out with his foot, kicking, _hard_. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’d get lucky and smash Kraglin in the face, or somethin, and then maybe he could still get outta here.

But Kraglin was stronger and savvier than he looked, so even that crappy plan didn’t work. Also the rest of his team hadn’t let up on him when he’d faltered. In fact their grips had gotten harder, as if they knew he was faking. Which they probably had known, _dammit_.

Peter swore at them as best he could and squirmed as best he might. No sound escaped his throat and he was barely able to move at all, so instead of defiant he probably just looked stupid.

God this was tiring. And he was already so _tired_. Peter didn’t know why he was so tired. He didn’t know why they were doing this. It was really freaky. And scary.

And all this time, the strange thin sound went on. At some point in his thrashing around, Peter finally turned his head enough to see Yondu’s face. The other man’s face was chalk white, his eyes bleak, but as dark and set hard as stone.

The guy was _whistling_.

The fire in Peter’s chest worsened the longer the sound dragged on. And on. And _on_. Something tugging and pulling near his heart, something sharp yanked back and forth inside him, tearing him apart from the inside out.

Peter’s eyes widened and he froze as sudden, awful realization—and memory—fell back into place.

He finally knew what Yondu was doing. And what he’d done. Yondu’d _shot_ him. Held him hostage. Thrown him to the Ravagers, then taken him to Jason. He’d treated him like an annoying little pet that’d finally run out of chances, and Peter’d almost _died_ as a result. Hell, if Jason’s stupid planet hadn’t regenerated him, maybe he _would_ have died this time. He didn’t remember every single injury, but he remembered how much it’d _hurt_. How much it _still_ hurt.

Jason had said with more time on the planet itself, Peter’s recovery would have been whole and permanent. Peter grimly wondered how _much_ more time would have made it whole and permanent. And how much of him wasn’t healed all the way, or even healed very much at all. It seemed like a pretty crucial detail he’d never ironed out.

Before, you know. He’d blown Jason up.

Whatever. He’d never regret blowing Jason up. Besides, this whole hey-guess-what-I’m-not-completely-healed-from-the-Ravager-sixty-to-one-fight wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part about it was that Youdu had _laughed_ the whole friggin time. (True, Yondu wasn’t laughing now, but hey, maybe torturing Peter had become routine for him.)

And now the _others_ , why were they doing this to him _now_? It didn’t make sense, they weren’t even asking him any _questions_ , and even if they were, he couldn’t tell them anything they didn’t _already_ know—

—and he _literally_ couldn’t tell them anything _anyway_ —

—and—

—it just didn’t make sense—

—but they were doing it _anyway_ —

Peter knew he should feel infuriated and betrayed. He knew he should feel anger, and spite, and fury. He knew he should want to curse, swear, shout, to try and shoot Yondu and Kraglin and all the other Ravagers, and yeah, even go after the Guardians, or blow em all up or knock them all flying…but he didn’t. He just felt sick. And tired. And scared. And small. And lost.

And all he really wanted to do was cry.

He felt his face twist, felt the tears start to come. He blinked furiously to keep them out of his eyes, then felt like crying harder as he failed, failed in front of everyone, and the big traitorous drops welled up and started sliding down the sides of his face, dripping onto the grimy floor. Behold the mighty Star-Lord, cryin’ like a kid.

He couldn’t even _say_ anything.

It was really hard to breathe now.

His shoulders started to shake, and the ceiling blurred above him. His throat hurt, and his eyes stung. But he wasn’t crying. Not really. He was just really mad at everyone. Yeah. He was really, _really_ mad. That’s what this was. He was _infuriated_ , not _broken-hearted_.

Yeah, r _ight_.

Mantis’ hands trembled on his temples as his tears began to slide down between her fingers. Through his blurred vision, he could see Drax’s own face go white. Then Peter suddenly felt small twig fingers clutching desperately at one of his legs, a trembling paw latching on just beneath it. A sudden sharp movement at the corner of his eye. A hand, snatching at his free one, clutching it to her in a sudden death grip. He knew that hand. It had cybernetic edges and scars, and rings where she tried to hide them, and it was strong and it wanted to help him.

But Peter didn’t want it.

He didn’t want anything from _any_ of them. Not _ever_ again.

They’d _betrayed_ him.

_All_ of them were _hurting_ him and he couldn’t understand _why_.

So Peter squeezed his eyes tight shut and hunched his shoulders, tried turning his head away from all of them, wishing he there was somewhere he could turn where one of them _wasn’t_. He refused to look at them, ignored what their dim voices were saying, ignored the half-heard excuses and the garbled lies they were giving. He kicked out at the hands holding his legs, he jerked his hand out of her hold, and he thrashed his neck around and screamed as loud as he could through the gag, writhing, twisting, striking out at all of them. He wanted to show them he didn’t care, he _didn’t_ , and that he _hated_ all of them and wanted them to go _away_ , and that this certainly wasn’t _far worse than **anything**_ Jason had done to him.

He was angry, not _scared_. He was furious, not _hurt_. He knew exactly what they were doing, and he wasn’t _confused as hell_. He was screaming and not _sobbing_ , because—and this was _very_ important—because he was not, repeat _not_ , any of those weaker, lesser things. Not in the least.

_Nope, nope, nope nope nope nope nope._

Peter decided not to think about his friends anymore. It hurt too much. Instead he forced his mind to focus on another question.

This…this had all started with…Yondu…that much he did remember…

—but—

—but why would Yondu even throw him to the Ravagers and hurt him like that, hurt him so bad in the _first place_? _Yondu_ was the reason arrow bits were still digging around near Peter’s heart, and somehow he’d convinced Gamorra and Groot and Rocket and Drax and even Mantis to join in and hate Peter too. Peter had thought he _knew_ Yondu. He dimly cast his mind back, fumbling through things that might have made Yondu hate his guts.

Was he still mad about the Infinity Stone? Maybe. But he’d thought Yondu understood how dangerous the stone actually was. He’d thought Yondu would _like_ the troll. He thought Yondu would think it was _funny_. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he didn’t know Yondu that well at all. Because he hadn’t really thought Yondu would actually ever let the Ravagers rip him to pieces. Or shred him to bits himself.

Peter _hadn’t_ thought Yondu would do that. The Ravagers were the closest thing he’d had to family, especially after Mom died. But they’d tried to _kill_ him. Still were trying to, apparently. At least _Yondu_ was. And they were succeeding, because…

...well…

…Peter hadn’t thought _Yondu_ would try and kill him, but Peter certainly hadn’t thought his _friends_ , his _new_ family, would _ever_ just _stand there_ and _let it happen_. _Hell_ , they weren’t even just standing there, they were _helping Yondu torture him_.

They knew how to do it, too. He _hated_ being trapped. He _hated_ feeling helpless. He _hated_ agonized silence. They _knew_ that, and they’d forced all of that onto him _anyway_. They knew _every one_ of his weaknesses, and they’d used them _against_ him.

Even in Jason’s cavern, he’d never been this close to breaking.

Breathing had been hard for him before. It was near impossible after the next, simple, awful thought crossed his mind.

His family didn’t care about him. Didn't want him. And his friends didn’t either.

At that thought, he really did slump, all the fight suddenly burned out of him. He felt his head thud back down and found he simply couldn’t keep his eyes tight shut anymore. But he couldn’t fully open them, either. So he just stared blankly at…well. Whatever direction his eyes were lookin at, he supposed. It didn’t matter. His head was lolling and he couldn’t see anyway.

Wow. His heart was hurtin worse than he thought it ever could.

Literally _and_ metaphorically.

Dully, completely, he wished he were dead. At least he wouldn’t feel this bad anymore if he was.

The voices around him buzzed louder in their intensity, then slowly died away as the world faded round him. Finally, dimly, after what seemed like forever, Peter realized Yondu had stopped whistling. The pain in Peter’s chest throbbed steadily, still bad but no longer growing by leaps and bounds.

Oh, he was still alive then.

Which meant he wasn’t going to see his mom. He was still stuck here with this bunch of jackasses.

_Swell._

Slowly, sluggishly, things started to change around him. Drax’s fingers were loosening their grip, his weight shifting off of him, and then Peter’s legs were free now too—not that he could move em much, though—

—somebody else was putting a gentle hand on his chest—

—someone else was crying softly—

—and another person was violently throwing up in the background—

—ehhh, that last one wasn’t a soothing change—

—but he was probably imagining all of it. They were probably still just hurting him worse, and he’d probably had gone into denial and shock as a way to cope.

Although the guy puking was a surprise.

Then he felt slender fingers take hold of the leather strap, gently working it free from between his teeth. Peter knew he wasn’t hallucinating now, because his jaw _ached_ and his whole face _hurt_. And his tongue felt disgusting. Briefly, he considered biting whoever was finally taking the damn thing out of his mouth, but that would mean using energy and taking some sort of action. Besides, they were Gamorra’s fingers. And it was Yondu he was most pissed at right now. But even being pissed off required energy.

Ngh.

Screw ‘em.

Peter was tired.

He didn’t care anymore.

Huh. Now that he wasn’t getting ripped apart by shrapnel, his ears had started to work again, if not very well. The voices had also stopped all talking at him simultaneously. Only one voice was speaking, the tone rough and gravelly, but familiar.

Yondu was talking. Of course _Yondu_ got to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I promise there is a TON of comfort coming after this chapter of hurt. I pinky promise there is, so please don't kill me. :) ) 
> 
> (As always, reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing. Death threats, on the other hand, not so much.)


	37. Father and Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awwwww, look, they really _do_ love each other.
> 
> AKA 
> 
> HAVE ALL THE FATHER SON FEELS! HAVE THEM ALLLLL!!

The boy wouldn’t look at him.

Yondu swallowed hard. It was to be expected. He’d hoped the kid had understood what was goin on, what had to happen. But he knew it’d been a forlorn hope at best. He tried explaining it again.

“—once we saw it, the shard activated, as it’were. Jason musta done summat to it, modified or infected it in some lil’ way. Ever’ time you spoke, it started gettin closer to yer heart. I had ta get it out ‘afore it killed you.” He tried for a weak smile. “Had ta improvise. Wasn’t enough time. Not one’a my best plans…”

Silence.

Peter still wasn’t looking at him. Yondu gnawed his lip as he studied the boy’s profile. The kid’s eyes, hollow and unseeing, were turned in the general direction of the girl and the rest of his friends. After Yondu had finished extracting the arrow shard out of Peter’s shoulder, the rest of the Guardians silently melded into a small group behind Gamorra, staring anxiously down as she worked on bandaging the wound on Peter’s shoulder. They looked unsure of Peter’s eventual reaction to them.

But it didn’t even look like he’d seen them yet.

Naw, the kid wasn’ lookin at them. He was lookin _through_ them. But at least he was breathin agin, and he’d stopped cryin a while before.

Now he was just quiet.

Real quiet.

Yondu swallowed hard. Maybe quiet wasn’t good. And talking to the kid now was more difficult then he’d expected. But he tried again.

“…sorry ‘bout that, boyo.”

Still nothing.

Dammit, the kid couldn’t shut up when his life literally depended on it. And now that the threat was gone, he wouldn’t say a word. Yondu felt like ripping out his headfin in exasperation and anxiety. He tried again.

“…I…didn’t want to hurt ya. Yew know that…right?”

The kid’s shoulder twitched. Yondu thought he heard a faint mutter, as if the kid was sayin somethin to himself. The whisper was barely audible over the dim thrum of the life support systems thrumming under their feet.

“..ar.”

Yondu leaned forward. “Wha’ was that?” he asked, a little desperately. The kid’s shoulder stiffened under his grasp. Then the kid whipped his head around and roared at Yondu, his voice furious and cracking.

**_“LIAR!”_** he yelled, his eyes bright with tears. As Yondu met his gaze, he felt like he’d been sucker punched in the chest.

The kid knew.

He’d remembered.

Hell, how much did he remember? Yondu hadn’t wanted to remember—had tried to forget—what Jason had made him do, or what Jason had let the Ravagers do to Peter, but some nastier moments flickered just under the surface of his mind. Something about collarbones and boots, and an arm breaking, and a leg twisting the wrong way, and arrow shards and masks. Eugh. No wonder Peter was so—

“You’re a _liar_!” the kid screamed again, and the bewildered fury and utter pain in his voice hammered at Yondu’s heart like a battering ram. “This is _your_ fault! _You_ grabbed me for Jason, _you_ got ‘em to hurt me, you even threw me to the _Ravagers_ —thanks for that, by the way—an’ now, NOW you say you didn’t wanna hurt me? **_THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!_** ”

Peter grimaced and tried twisting away from Yondu’s grip on his shoulder, but his strength failed halfway through. Yondu swallowed, feeling the angry, quivering energy coursing through the boy, and silently released his hold. The kid didn’t trust him, didn’t want him touching him right now. Yondu would respect that.

The kid clearly hadn’t expected that response. He sucked in a surprised, suspicious breath, glared up at him, then pointedly shifted an entire inch away from Yondu.

Just to prove his point.

Yondu sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose with one hand. “I meant…aw, krutak.” He sighed heavily, then looked tiredly into Peter’s angry face. “You know yer father? Jason, Ego, whateveh he called himself? He could infect people, get into their minds.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Peter sneered, his voice artificially bright and helpful, “I _know_ he did, it friggin _hurt_ , and I know because he _did it ta me on his **planet** ,_ which I wouldn’t have _BEEN_ on if you hadn’t friggin _kidnapped_ me.” Another thought seemed to strike him and he kicked impulsively out at Yondu’s knee. “And that’s the **second** time you’ve _done_ that, you blue sonofa ** _bitch_**!”

The kick was a weak and futile gesture. Since Yondu was still kneeling by Peter’s shoulder, and thus was nowhere near Peter’s foot, the only person Peter conceivably might have hit was Kraglin. But since Yondu’s second mate was still throwing up in a nearby storage pod, Peter’s act of peevish irascibility didn’t damage anything. Except maybe his own foot, as it connected with an old and dirty wrench.

Peter yelped, momentarily distracted, and Yondu took the opportunity to turn around and point at the back of his own neck, just under the fin. Where an ugly white starburst of a scar shone stark and new against the skin.

“You see this, boyo?”

Peter was muttering under his breath about stupid old Ravagers and their stupid disorganized cargo bays, but abruptly stopped. There was a long silence.

“Yeah.” He said slowly. Yondu turned around, met his gaze again. “Best we can figure, Taserface cut a deal with the planet. Somehow planted that…eh, thing onta me. Was in my head for the better part of a week. But yer ma helped me fix the damage.”

Peter blinked at that. “My…my mom?” His voice changed a little. “You met my mom?”

Yondu nodded. “Ah did indeed. She was—is,” he corrected himself, “is quite a lady.” He looked at Peter again. There was a moment of silence between them. Then Yondu said, as if it summed it up quite nicely, “She’s somethin, ain’t she?”

The kid bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah.” he said, and Yondu pretended not to notice how his voice cracked a little. “She’s awesome.”

Yondu nodded briskly. “Well, anyways, she intervened durin’ Taserface’s mutiny, which gave us the chance ta come rescue you.” He looked at Peter, who looked back at him. The kid blinked.

“Oh, right. Thanks. For that.”

“Yer welcome.” Yondu said wryly. Then he said, voice a little too soft and pleasant, “Oh, an’ thank _you_ , boyo, for gettin mah ship off tha’ planet in the nick of time.”

****

Over from where he leaned forlornly against the storage pod, Kraglin’s head shot up. He motioned frantically to Drax, then sliced his hand back and forth near his neck in a “nixing’ sort of motion, jerking his head over at Peter.

Drax frowned and looked down at Gamorra. “I do not want to cut off Peter’s head.” He whispered.

Gamorra gave him a strange look, then caught sight of Kraglin’s steadily increasing expression of alarm. “He’s talking about Yondu.” she said in a low voice.

Drax’s frown deepened, and he shot Kraglin a disgusted frown. “I do not want to cut off Yondu’s head either.” he said, aggrieved. “What sort of treacherous first mate would suggest anything of the kind?”

Down by Drax’s knee, Rocket dragged a paw down over his face until his bottom lip stretched down and showed his pointed canines. “Stars and celestials, not this agaaaaain.” he groaned to himself. Perched on his shoulder, Groot (who had only now just forgiven Rocket for forcibly keeping him away from Quill during the whole shrapnel extraction debacle), giggled. “IamGroot.” he snickered.

Gamorra shook her head resignedly. “Kraglin is trying to warn Peter that Yondu is angry.” she explained patiently. “Kraglin is a very good first mate to Yondu,” she added, seeing Kraglin look almost hurt at Drax’s glower.

She threw the first mate a polite smile and jerked her head back towards Drax. “Literalist.” she called, and Kraglin’s expression cleared and he nodded.

He gave them a shaky thumbs up which Drax returned, all friendly goodwill once he understood Kraglin wasn’t advocating treachery. Then Kraglin staggered to his feet and began to jerkily move across towards his captain and his captain’s long term protege.

Who, per usual, were in the middle of a furious argument.

****

“ _—dude_ , I _saved_ your _asses_ from a freaking sentient _planet_ , why are you _complaining_ about _how_ I did it?!—“

“That’s not the _point_ , boy! The point was, you threw yourself out there with _no_ backup, _no_ plan, and no _weapons_!”

“I had a jetpack! And a spacesuit! And—and—and phenomenal cosmic powers!”

“Boyo, that’s a load of flarg an’ you know it! You jus’ punched out every poor soul on your way to the control room and then ya shot the panel to pieces as you went.

Kraglin was pretty upset about that. Weren’tchu, Kraglin?”

“Uhhhhh, uh, yes, yes I was, Cap’n. Yes, Quill. Uh, Cap’n. Uh, yes, I was, Quill. Real upset.”

“It’s gonna take us an awful long time to repair, boyo.”

“Aw, no it won’t Cap’n, I got spare parts all over this ship, should onl’ take me an’ my boys a couplea—“

“ _Kraglin_.”

“…cap’n?…”

“Would you _kindly_ go find out where the krutak mah medics are? An’ help em find that Terran medicine and all? Seems like things went a bit to pieces ‘round here when we was shot inta space.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n. Right away, Cap’n.”

“You never like anything I do.” Peter muttered sulkily. Yondu clenched his fists a few times in an instinctively throttling gesture, then visibly controlled himself.

“All ah’m tryin ta say,’ he said, in a carefully modulated tone, “iz that next time you should at least take a coupla guns with you. Better yet, backup.”

Peter waved a tired hand in the air. “I told you when I left, it wouldn’ta worked! Jason woulda eaten you.” He paused for a second, snickered. “Which is, heheh, kinda, sorta, um, funny, all things considered. Mantis, tell him I’m right, that _I_ saved _him_ from gettin _eaten_.”

From her position still holding Peter’s head between her hands, Mantis looked up a little at them, her expression stiff, but smiling.

“Peter is right.” she said weakly, then bowed her head and resumed her efforts to keep Peter’s injuries at bay until proper medical help could arrive. Yondu noticed Peter’s worried frown and hastily stepped in.

The dast boy would probably insist she take a rest. Which Yondu would have too. But he knew that the minute the little dark-eyed kid stopped her magic mojo thing, Quill’d take a turn for the worse that maybe not even the Nova Corps team could fix.

He dragged Quill’s attention back to him by asking him a question. The question might have seemed a little odd, but Yondu genuinely needed to know the answer. He actually needed to know the answer quite badly.

“You know I’d never hurt you like that, boyo. Not on my own.” He hesitated a little. “You _do_ know that, right?”

Quill stopped snickering about how _he’d_ saved _Yondu_ from getting _eaten_ , and looked wonderingly up at him. The boy thought about it for a second, clearly turning the question over in his mind. Yondu felt his heart sink a little at the lengthening pause. The green-skinned girl cut in, studying Yondu closely.

“To be fair,” she said, a little cooly, “You did try and kill him over that Infinity Stone.”

Yondu flushed red to the base of his fin. “Tha’ was different.” he muttered. “Peter was mutinyin’ then.”

Peter grumbled under his breath at that. “ _Freelancing_.” he said, as if this was an argument they’d had before. Gamorra still looked unimpressed, but Yondu plowed doggedly on.

“Anyways, you’re yer own cap’n now, Quill. You’re not under mah command no more. You got yer own ship, you got yer own crew, hell, the first mission y’all went on together you ended up savin the galaxy. Not a bad job.”

Yondu hesitated for just a second, considering his next words carefully.

“ ‘matter of fact, I’m right proud of you, son.”

Utter silence in the cargo bay.

The kid looked like someone had hit him over the head with a colonized asteroid. Or as if he’d never heard those words before. Not from Yondu, anyway.

Yondu was a little puzzled. Surely he’d told the kid this before. Hadn’t he? When the kid had first modified his own rocket-boots? When the kid had figured out a way to compress his space mask? When the kid had successfully flown his first ship? When the kid had made his first successful landing? (Those last two feats had been on two different occasions and in two different ships. The less said about the kid’s first ever landing attempt the better—Peter still had scars on his neck from shrapnel and Yondu had at least five worry lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before that day, no matter what the kid said).

Huh. Maybe Yondu _hadn’t_ ever told the kid he was proud of him before. Huh.

Peter’d swallowed hard at Yondu’s words, then chanced a quick look up at Yondu. Yondu didn’t say anything, but he felt an almost immeasurable wave of relief at the look in the boy’s eyes.

When he’d been taking the shrapnel out of Peter, and after, when the boy had called him a liar—Yondu’d seen that look disappear. In fact, he thought he’d never see it again. There was a lot of meaning in a look like that, many emotions blended into just a few seconds, and Yondu only had like, eight or so emotions he was really good at picking up on.

He hadn’t realized how much he valued the way Peter looked at him until he’d seen that look vanish.

There was a lot in that look. Respect, admiration, concern. Maybe something even deeper than that.

Yondu wasn’t sure how to put it into words. But before she’d faded, in those last few minutes in the cargo bay, he’d seen how Meredith Quill looked at Peter. And he’d seen how Peter looked at her.

Meredith’s words about Jason only being Peter’s daddy in name came back to him. Yondu gruffly thought that if endlessly worrying about the little scrufter made him Peter’s dad, then most of the Ravagers currently on the ship could claim surrogate paternity.

But that wasn’t quite right. After the first initial terror of his abduction had worn off, Peter’d taken to following Yondu around like a pup. Yondu’d never known why, exactly. Maybe it was the “totally awesome” arrow. Maybe it was Yondu’s sarcastic sense of humor and wry quips in the middle of hair-raising situations.

Or maybe it’d been because, two days after they’d first picked up the kid, Yondu had happened upon three of the other Ravagers looming over the kid. They’d been going to eat him.

No.

Seriously.

Two of them was Askavarians who’d never been fond of small things. The other was a Leften who had a reputation of beating up things weaker then himself. And all of them were consistently, endlessly hungry. None of those three had been thrilled with the thought of indefinately babysitting a tiny, crying Terran. (Also, Quill had kicked one of them in the stomach when he’d first been brought in, and they hadn’t even tried to like his music.) In short, they despised the kid. Which is why they’d chased him down into a rarely-used airlock and flicked out their knives. They’d probably thought they could jettison whatever was left into space and claim the kid had been trying to get home.

But they hadn’t planned for Yondu tracking them down before they got started. He hadn’t known something was off, exactly, he’d just realized the pup wasn’t jabbering at his heels and found it mighty strange.

Ever since he’d come on board, the kid had dogged Yondu’s every step, alternating between insisting he go home and asking a thousand questions about the ship and “what did _this_ button do.” When Yondu realized he was surrounded by blissful silence, he’d figured something must be terribly wrong.

And it very nearly had been.

Well. The point was, Yondu’d found him in time. He’d seen what was happening and taken issue with it. Three big guys against one real small one, well, tha’ jus’ didn’ seem _fair_.

Admittedly, his arrow had been in the shop, but his fists had been working just fine. After the ensuing chaos ended, he’d pried the kid out off the girder he’d been clinging to, then bundled him off to the engine room with a surprised and suddenly serious Kraglin.

Then he’d quietly turned round and surveyed the three groaning figures before him.

The next time roll was called, those three names weren’t mentioned.

No one ever saw them again.

There were rumors, but just that. The Ravagers had a code, after all.

Captain though he may be, Yondu didn’t _technically_ have the authority to airlock mutinous crewmembers without a formal trial. But Yondu Udonta’d never let little things like protocol stand in his way. Not in cases like these.

After that, it’d just gotten to be natural to have the kid constantly hanging around, asking questions, learning things. Becoming one of the crew.

Becoming—

Well. Meredith Quill had all but said he was her son’s daddy. And, strangely enough, Yondu found he didn’t mind having that title. Didn’t mind it at all. Hell, he’d been doing the job for years. He just hadn’t had a name for it until now.

It seemed that Peter had just realized the truth of his own title too, judging by the sudden excited look he always got when some happy thought lit him up like a candle. Come to think of it, Yondu wasn’t sure if he’d ever called Peter “son” before. Certainly not in the way he’d just said it.

Peter shot a hopeful sideways look up at Yondu. Yondu looked cautiously sideways and down at Peter.

There were some things you just didn’t need to say.

Heh. It’d only taken them twenty-odd years to figure _that_ out.

Quill shifted a little on the floor of the cargo bay, still looking beat to hell, but Yondu saw the tension easing out of his shoulders. The kid grinned, a little goofily, and did what he usually did. Shot his mouth off, masking his true feelings underneath layers and layers of snark.

Yondu didn’t mind.

He did the same thing. Hell, the kid’d probably learned it from _him_.

“ _You’re_ proud of _me_?” the kid drawled, and his gleeful happiness and pride weren’t quite hidden by the snarky tone he used. “Gee, thanks, Yondu.”

Yondu snorted at him. “Yer welcome.” He growled, and his own voice was much less caustic than it usually was, no matter how hard he tried to sound normal.

The kid grinned again at that, and continued on. “You abducted me from my home-world and raised me into a life of crime, so gee _whiz_ am I glad I’m succeeding at that.” he said dryly.

Yondu snorted. “What’ve I told you before, boyo? Bein a Ravager ain’t about gettin away with breakin the law, or about the money.”

Kraglin, who’d come back with an armful of disorganized medical supplies and was now doggedly searching through them, shot his captain a confused look.

“It ain’t _all_ about gettin away with breakin the law or about the money.” Yondu amended. “It’s mostly about brains an’ some heart. And you got plenty o’ both.”

“Heh. First time you’ve said _that_.”

Yondu started to feel cranky again. He could only stand to be sappy for very rare, very short periods of time at best, and today had been extremely nerve-wracking.

“Son,” he growled, “jus’ cuz you’re sick, don’ give me reason to—“ Yondu took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Peter watched him delightedly. That kid always knew which button to press. Yondu forced himself to keep his voice even and massaged the bridge of his nose again. “Mmmmmm. All I’m sayin, is that you’re turnin out well.”

Peter snorted and seemed to suddenly remember he was supposed to be mad at Yondu. “Yeah, well, I always figured my mom would be pissed if she found out I’d become a Ravager.”

Yondu blinked. “Was she?”

Peter smirked. “Nope. She said she was proud of me too.” He sighed deeply, looking almost relaxed despite his uncomfortable location and unenviable physical state. He shot Yondu a sly smile. “So it looks like even a busted clock is right twice a day.”

He waited.

Yondu looked befuddled. Sometimes it was like the kid was spouting gibberish even when he wasn’t quoting lyrics. “Whas’ that?”

Peter groaned and rolled his eyes. “Uhhhn.” he said, sounding a little more tired than before. “Uh…this time it means you’re not _all_ dumb, because you agree with my mom.”

Yondu snorted. “You are an obnoxious little _shit_.” he said proudly.

Peter grinned back. “And I don’t even try.”

Drax broke in at this. “That is not true. You try very hard to be obnoxious, Peter Quill.” Peter blinked, turned his head towards his friends, seeming to become aware of their presence for the first time. “Oh, hey guys.” he said, almost automatically. Then Drax’s words registered and he groaned again.

“I swear,” he moaned, “no one in this galaxy _gets_ sarcasm.”

“Where is this chasm?” Drax quickly inquired. “I will try and get it for you. Perhaps the rest of you will help me.” Peter groaned again, slowly bringing one hand up to his head.

“Oh for the love of—just, shut up, Drax, please.” Peter stopped rubbing his eyes with one hand, then cocked his head to one side. “…Draaaaax.” He said slowly. “Why are you being so nice?”

Drax crossed his arms, looking embarrassed. “I did not enjoy causing you terror or pain, however necessary. I would do something to make amends.”

Peter started to grin again. “Annnnnnything?” Drax nodded. “Anything.” he said firmly.

“Weeell, there were some improvements around the Milano that I kept puttin off.” Peter said thoughtfully. Then he grinned evilly.

“But if you wanna do ‘em, be my guest.”

Drax looked confused. “I thought I was a member of your crew.”

Peter sighed again. “It’s just an Earth reference, Drax. Of course you’re part of the crew.” Drax opened his mouth as if to inquire further into the metaphor, then saw the weariness creeping over his his friend’s face and changed the question. “What sort of improvements?” Peter waved a hand. “Ask Rocket over here. He’ll tell ya.”

Rocket sniffed. “I will. But don’t you think I’m gonna be all nice ta ya, Quill, just cuz you had a rough couplea days. I ain’t doin no extra chores and I ain’t workin on no speakers, cuz I don’ have that kinda time. And you can just stop tryin ta tap into Earth’s radeo wyves, because that’s a huge project and really difficult and again, I don’t have that kinda time.”

Peter blinked. “I wasn’t goin to try that…” he said slowly. He grinned as Rocket reddened to the tips of his ears. “Well I’m not gonna do it.” Rocket sniffed. “Jus’ forget it.”

Groot tugged at his paw, looking confused. “Iam _Groot_.” he said plaintively. Rocket seized this heaven-sent opportunity with both paws. “Oh, well, if _you_ already got the parts.” he said offhandedly. “I can try helpin you out. If I got the time, that is.”

Peter shot a brief grin over at Gamorra, who sniffed. “Don’t bother asking what I”m going to do.” she informed him. Peter’s face fell comically. Gamorra hid a slight smile as she finally finished applying the bandage over his shoulder. It was a lot bigger and covered more of Peter’s chest than Yondu had thought it would. “It’s going to be a surprise.” Gamorra said sweetly. Peter lit up. “Oh boy!” he said excitedly. “What kinda surprise!?”

“The kind you don’t know anything about until it happens.”

“Are you going to make that awesome dessert again? The one with the cheren bits on top of that swirly white stuff on top of that cake—“

Gamorra’s face gave nothing away. “Maybe.”

“Or are we gonna do that thing where we go skydiving blindfolded, and the first one to pull up is a wuss?”

“Maybe.”

“No, wait, I bet it’s gonna be that fire dance you talked about once, where if we get it wrong we get fried to a crisp!”

Gamorra blushed slightly. “That is—was—is—an ancient marriage ceremony on my planet.” she said severely. “It’s not something you just do for fun.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “I bet.” he said seriously. “Uh, what was the mortality rate for it?” he wondered nervously. Gamorra’s smile only showed in her eyes. “I’m not sure.” she said, straight faced. “But most people managed it just fine.”

Peter snickered at that, then looked up at Mantis. “Hey, that’s right, you still haven’t learned about dancing, have you?” he asked. “It’s kind of like what my mom did in the cave. Except without the smashing a puny god part. But you’re gonna love it all the same.”

He stopped talking, stared up at her. “Mantis?” he said, in a very different sort of voice. _“Mantis!”_

The girl wavered, started to fall. Then, with a strength not usually associated with someone so tiny, she pulled herself together and remained upright, hands resting gently against Peter’s temples. She stiffened as Yondu’s worried hand brushed her shoulder, and outright shook her head as Drax came over.

“Please do not disturb my balance.” she said, her voice thready and weak. “I must concentrate on keeping Peter alive.”

A heavy, draining kind of silence fell over the cargo bay, the cheerful atmosphere instantly evaporating into the darkness and the shadows.

“Alive?” Peter said into it. “I thought you were just keepin me awake.”

“I was.” she replied in a little ghost of a voice. “But you are getting worse. Very quickly.”

There was another pause. Peter swallowed audibly. “Huh.” he said thickly. “Tha… doesn’t sound so good…”

Yondu felt his heart sink. He should have noticed Peter hadn’t been moving very much. He should have noticed how pale the kid was getting. But he’d been so like his normal self it’d been hard—or unpleasant—to remember something was wrong.

Gamorra’s voice was soft. “Why didn’t you say anything, Mantis?”

The little girl swallowed. “I could not find the words. And he was so happy. His happiness was helping. But, suddenly, now, it is not enough.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “And I am getting so _very_ tired.”

Peter had raised his head, now, was staring as hard as he could at the girl above him. “Yeah, that’s it.” he said decisively. “We’re goin to med bay. Right now.” Mantis peeped one eye open and looked back down at him.

“That is not a good idea, Star-Lord Peter Quill.”

“Sure it is.” Peter responded. “I’m rested now, you’ve done your job. I’ll just get to med bay, we’ll find the seda-whatevers I need, and we’ll just wait for Nova Corps to get here with their magic stuff. And you won’t kill yourself with overexertion.”

He twisted about a little for a few seconds, pushed his palms against the floor and raised himself up to his elbows. He blinked, his eyelids fluttering for a second, then gritted his teeth and focused.

“Come _on_ guys, help me.” he said, as if they were stupid. “Mantis can’t keep this up for much longer and I don’ wanna croak in a cargo bay. Urgh, it means _die_.” he snapped at Drax, who’d looked confused again for just a second.

Groot gasped. “Iamgroot?” he quavered. Peter shot him a tired wink. “Nah, I don’t plan on dyin. They’ll just have more stuff that can help over in med. And mebbe the Nova Corps shuttle will come while we’re there.” He shuffled his feet a little, got one knee up, planted one dirty boot on the floor.

“Come on guys,” he said, when no one moved. “Hup hup hup.”

“Peter." Gamorra said warningly. He looked at her, then made an angry motion with one thumb towards Mantis’ drooping head. “We gotta.” he whispered. “She’s lookin real bad.”

Yondu opened his mouth, meant to say somethin encouraging. What came out was, “You’re not doin good either, boyo. You’re goin grey.”

Peter’s eyes tightened a little at that, but he pushed the fear in them away. “Pfft, _you’re_ goin grey.” he retorted, weakly.

Then, too suddenly for Yondu or Gamorra—or Mantis—to stop him, he forced his way into a sitting position, shaking Mantis’ weak hands away from his temples, leaning away from her. For a moment he sat there, grinning up at his dad and his team as if nothing was wrong in the world.

“Guys, check it out. I’m fine.”

Then something seemed to register. He looked behind him and grabbed something, started pulling it toward him.

“Hey Yondu, I found your jacket, it was right here under my head the whole—“

_**-BAM-** _

Just like that, he’d stopped talking. Just like that, he’d fallen over onto his side. Just like that, he’d started shaking again. But this time, that wasn’t their only problem.

This time, they could see something else going sideways. (Really, though, when did it not?)

Because under the bandages on his shoulder, scarlet was beginning to spread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	38. Just Not Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember, no matter how bad things were, they can always, always, ALWAYS get worse.

Rocket wanted to throw up.

It just wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t enough that Peter’s day had started out with him gettin shot in the chest. It weren’t fair that he’d been all but killed by a bunch of psychotic Ravagers, and then gotten used as a battery—like, twice—by an evil planet. It weren’t fair that whole “regeneration” thing turned out to be incomplete and half-finished. Especially since—Rocket was no expert, but he could guess—wielding enough cosmic energy to shoot a crippled spaceship out into orbit was no picnic, even if you were born to wield that kind of power. And now that the source of that power—and the source of the regeneration—was literally dead, and dark, and floating away into the stars--

....Pete was….

Well. It was safe to say he was goin downhill fast, even though Mantis had squeaked and slammed her hands onto his temples again. Rocket simultaneously admired the kid’s spunk and agonized that she couldn’t keep it up for very much longer.

Peter was still jerking round too much, even with her help, and his breathin was going all busted and weird again. Yondu’d grabbed his shoulder, tryin to steady him, but Peter’s shaking just got worse. Gammy’d grabbed one of his hands, and Drax was over them all, just hovering, trying to figure out what to do.

Problem was, Drax could pretty much bench press a small shuttle, but he couldn’t do anything about Pete’s injuries reopening. Earlier, when Gamorra had been bandaging their friend’s shoulder, Rocket had caught a glimpse of new, angry looking red scars all over Petey’s chest, and a few deep green and violet bruises spreading up from his ribs. Now his jerking around had made the bandages slide loose, and they could all see that it was all just getting worse, as if they were watching a time-lapse video of recovery run in reverse.

And it was fast.

Then Pete’s arm had jerked out sideways and bent all weird, and one of his legs had done the same thing, and all Pete’d been able to do was whimper a little, and it just. wasn’t. _fair_.

No matter how hard Gammy held his good hand and tried humming his favorite tunes, no matter how much Drax hovered, or how bad Yondu swore, nuthin was getting better. Mantis was barely keepin him breathin. It just wasn’t _fair_.

Rocket wished he could help. Or throw up, one of the two. Seeing Peter like that scared him on a level so deep he thought his insides were getting torn open while he was awake…again.

Rocket wanted to help.

He really did. But seeing Peter rip apart like that did something to his mind, flipped some switch he didn’t know he had, and the higher parts of his brain just shut down. Rocket wished he could help. He really, really did.

But dry heaving on his paws and knees wasn’t helping anyone. But at least he’d managed to turn away from Peter before he’d started. A thin little voice carried up towards him through the sounds surrounding Peter, and he looked down in time to see Groot jumping up and down, frantically flailing one small hand to get his attention. Rocket blinked, wiping a shaking paw across his mouth.

“Wha—“

“Iamgroot, Iam, groot, iamgroooooot! _Iamgroot!_ ”

Rocket blinked again, seeing Groot’s other hand stretching away in a tiny tendril that had curled itself around Peter’s nearest thumb. Groot explained again, and Rocket’s eyes widened in horrified realization. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d launched himself into the group, landing right by Peter’s head. He reached out and snatched one of Mantis’ hands away from Peter’s face. Simultaneously, he kicked Yondu’s hand away from Peter’s shoulder.

“Rocket!’ Drax said, shocked. “What in the infernal circles are you doing?! Peter responds well to physical reassurance, why are you causing them to desist?”

_“Pete’s mind ain’t here!”_ Rocket howled. “He thinks he’s back on Jason’s planet! Jason hurt his bad shoulder to make him forgit what was happenin, and that thing, remember, that thing that pretended to be his mom, it held his face like that too, so _stoppit_! _He’s scared!!_ He thinks he’s still bein _tortured_ , and he’s _freakin out_! So stop makin him **_worse_**!”

Mantis’ lip trembled and she weakly groped for one of Peter’s hands instead. Yondu’d gone white, both hands twisted into tight fists at his sides as he stared down at his son. Gamora’d gone pale too, started to release Peter’s other hand.

“Iamgroot!” Groot said quickly, and Rocket thrust out a paw at Gammy. “No, don’ you let go! And don’ you stop hummin. Jason didn’t like Pete’s tunes, so Pete knows he’s not with him when you’re hummin. ‘Sides, he likes your voice.”

Gammy blinked, then cleared her throat. Granted, her attempt at recreating the calm, reassuring melody of “ _ooooh, child, things are gonna get easier_ ” wasn’t the best, but it did seem to be helping. Sorta. Peter’d kind of calmed down.

But he’d accidentally banged his head back into Mantis’ nose as he’d tried to twist away. Drax made a noise of distress, but the little girl merely shook her head, smiling bravely as tears instinctively welled from her eyes.

“Oh, no, I am fine.” she said sweetly. “It was an accident, he did not mean to do it. Peter is not Jason.”

Drax and Yondu exchanged silent looks. Drax raised an inquisitive eyebrow and jerked his head at the rack of spacesuit packets hanging crookedly from one of the nearby walls. Yondu nodded, once, then turned his attention back to Peter. Drax pivoted on his heel and headed for the rack, his big fists clenching and unclenching at his sides with sudden and dangerous purpose. Rocket yowled and jumped after his friend, jumping up and wrapping himself around one of the Destroyer’s thick forearms.

“No—Drax, hey, Drax, no—the planet’s dead already, you don’t gotta kill it again, Groot, helpmeouthere—“

Groot started to come over to him, but whipped suddenly round. “Iamgroot!” he cried, pointing at Manis’ fainting figure.

But Rocket and Drax were already darting back, Drax leaping down and catching the little girl in his arms. Rocket checked her pulse quickly. “She’s fine.” he said. “Uh, probably. Just unconscious. Too much strain.” He shot a nervous look over at his tiny tree friend. “Groot! Are you able to try your—“

Groot had already zipped back over to Pete and rested a gentle, tiny hand on his head. More slowly than before, the tiny flowers blossomed and floated above them, soft light and faint fragrance drifting around the dimly lit and chilly cargo bay.

Rocket forced himself to look at Peter. The guy looked terrible. Pale, hollow-eyed, shivering. Oh, and on top of everything else, the dast idiot was soaking wet. How had Rocket missed that before? Rocket gritted his teeth and made himself look at the bright side. Miracle of miracles, Petey wasn’t instantly convulsing himself to death. Yet. He’d flickered awake now, and was talking. Sorta. But, uh, maybe that was a good thing. Rocket’d read or heard somewhere to keep injured people awake until qualified medical professionals showed up. So maybe this could work. He scurried over to Peter’s side, near Yondu.

Pete didn’t look good, but he was talkin. Kinda. Not like he usually did. He wasn’t tryin to be funny. And he wasn’t scared and tryin to be funny to pretend he wasn’t scared, neither.

Petey was just plain scared.

An’ it looked like the pain of his injuries was finally catchin up to him. Aw, _hell_. This was harder to take than the whole “emergency almost-heart surgery sans anesthetic” had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	39. Against the Dying of the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some threats you just can't physically fight. Doesn't mean they'll beat you, though.

Drax frowned to himself, keeping his eyes fixed on Mantis’ little form as he heard Peter’s weak voice ramble on.

His friend’s words were faster, more disjointed than usual. Drax gritted his teeth. He did not enjoy seeing his friend hurt, or scared, or both. He did not know how to protect against that sort of threat. That was not his area of strength. Instead, Drax wanted to rage, and roar, and rip asunder that which hurt his family. _That_ was how he protected them.

His friends were his family, now.

He had been unable to protect his family once.

And now it was happening again. But this time it was almost worse…because…because Drax could hunt Ronan down across the stars and tear him from existence, but there was no _way_ in this world he could track down and eradicate something as ethereal or formless as _fear_.

And fear was the thing hurting Peter now. Hurting him in ways Drax couldn’t describe or defend him against, and that knowledge made Drax almost mad with fear himself. Drax hated feeling helpless. Or useless. It didn’t make him angry, really, so much as it dulled and darkened his mind, the icy despair that’d claimed him after Hovat and Camaria perished creeping back into his core.

Drax shook his head, tried telling himself that he _was_ doing something useful here. He was holding the brave little ugly one in his arms. That was something.

But he was still not helping Peter. All he could do for Peter was listen. And he did not like to hear Peter now. Peter was never this scared. Well, not out loud. Peter never showed that kind of fear to his team. To his family.

However, Drax was not an idiot. He saw more than Peter—and most people—guessed, and had wanted, on more than one occasion, to tell Peter that repressing and hiding that much of his true self would eventually have catastrophic consequences. But now did not seem the time for a heart-to-heart conversation about being emotionally open.

Now, his friend was wounded.

In more ways than one. Drax hated the thing that had done this to Peter, hated Jason with an all-consuming passion and would have erased him from existence if he could have…but he could not.

It had already been done.

Worse, it wouldn’t erase the damage done to his friend. Would not—could not—fix it. Just like with Hovat, and Camaria. With a sinking feeling, Drax found himself wishing that Peter would not soon join them. Although he was sure the the three of them would have a riotous time together in the afterlife, Drax was, although a Guardian, still very selfish. He did not want to lose another family member.

He did not want to see them go before him. Not _ever_ again.

Quill’s mumbling started to grow slightly louder, his words clearer. Drax strained to listen. What he heard next made his heart feel ten times heavier than the gravity on the moon of Kerendor.

“…don’ wanna get eaten.” Peter whimpered, his voice thready and breaking. “I don’—I don’ wanna be a…a battery either. It hurts, it _hurts_ , it hurts a _lot_.”

Drax gritted his teeth as he saw Peter shift restlessly, the boy’s arms and legs too weak to even make it off the ground. His breathing had started to get worse, his voice cracking with terror and simple fatigue. “An’ I don’t, don’t _wanna_ help destroy the galaxy. I don’t, I don’t, I _don’t_.”

Then the Ravager captain spoke, his voice a little harsher than usual. Under other circumstances, Drax would have taken exception to Yondu’s brusqueness and struck him across the face, rebuking him and loudly exhorting him to be more considerate of badly injured people in the vicinity. But today had shown many exceptional circumstances, such as the fact that Yondu was a father too, in all but name. Also, Peter deeply cared for Yondu. So Drax would not instantly clobber the Ravager captain.

Also, Drax’s arms were still full of Mantis.

“No one’s gonna make you destroy the galaxy, boyo.” Yondu said bracingly. Drax suddenly realized the Ravager captain was simultaneously trying not to cry, and using a tone as close to soothing as he could possibly get. Oh. Well then. That was acceptable.

But Peter had started to laugh at Yondu’s words, the sound too high and too hysterical to be genuine. “Tell that to the crazy planet that killed my mom. He’s _crazy_ , Yondu, you shouldn’t _go_ there. _None_ of you should go there. An’ somebody tell the _Nova Corps_ not to go there! He’s—it’s—he’s _nuts_.”

“We won’t go there.” Drax promised. Peter shot him a sideways look out of too-bright eyes, and Drax was suddenly and heart-rendingly reminded of the time Camarria had come down with a fever that had nearly killed her. Hovat had gone half-mad with worry, (Drax had gone all mad with worry) and it’d taken the better part of a week to nurse their daughter back to health.

His little girl’s eyes had looked the way Peter’s had just now. Too-hot, too-bright, and she’d started seeing things that were not there. He hoped Peter would not suffer the way she had.

Given his friend’s luck, he was not hopeful.

Rocket cut into the conversation himself, his own sharp voice higher pitched than usual. “Petey, don’t you remember? We destroyed that krutaker, we blew him up!”

“I am GROOT.” The baby tree proclaimed. Rocket nodded, placed a quivering paw on Peter’s knee. “Yeah, jus’ like Groot said, boom, he’s gone. Don’t worry about him no more.”

With an effort, Peter raised his head just long enough to look at Rocket and Groot, and his voice rose too, terror cracking his words before he’d quite finished speaking.

“ _HA!_ Are you _sure_ he’s gone? Are you _positive_? He’s a fricking _planet_ , and he can t _ravel_ , hell, he infected worlds, _all_ of em, like he infected my mom’s _brain_. I saw his friggin map. It’s…it’s _huge_ , guys…Yondu, his map’s bigger than ours…or yours….or Nova Prime’s…it’s…it’s _sooooooooo_ much bigger…”

For just a second, Peter’s voice faltered and he swallowed, hard. Then he picked up and forged onwards, slugging on through his laborious train of thought. “We gotta stop him. I mean, I gotta stop him. I can mess with his energy, but you guys can’t so I gotta— _I_ gotta stop him.”

Peter tried getting up, but Yondu kept him down with a gentle but unyielding hand on his shoulder.

Peter groaned, tried kicking a little. “ _Mmph_ , ow, Yondu, comeon, I gotta. Lemme up. Just lemme do that quick an’ then I’ll rest. Pleaz, I promise. Pinky promise.” His gaze flickered up, shot pleadingly around the circle of his friends. “Come on, guys.” He said plaintively. His eyes focused on Gamorra. “Cume on, ‘morra.” he pleaded. “I gotta, he’ll kill billions of people otherwise…”

Drax was impressed by Gamorra’s steadfast resolve. She hadn’t stopped humming once this entire time, although she had started moving on to different, less familiar melodies. She stopped just long enough to reassure her friend of Jason’s fate.

“Don’t worry, Peter. We blew him up, he’s destroyed.”

“Ya _sure_?”

“Course we’re sure.” Rocket cut in. “We saw it. And your mom said it’d worked too.” Peter’s fevered eyes lit up for a moment, then darkened again. “You shouldn’ta listened to her. She wasn’t real.” He said sadly.

The dull ache in his voice seemed to crack something deep inside Gamorra that she usually didn’t acknowledge was there. “Oh, _Peter_.” she said, her voice trembling, and, almost instinctively, started to card her fingers gently through his hair. Peter’s eyes half-closed for a second at that, but then he shook his head a little and kept talking.

“She was….she was fake, Jason made a fake one. Which fooled me, cuz I’m stupid. My real mom didn’t come cuz—cuz she couldn’t, or, or, or maybe she’s…”

He gulped, mumbled the next few words. “I mean, I wouldn’t take, take Mom’s hand when she was—back when she was dyin. Even though she was—real scared, an—an’ asked me to…I jus—I jus didn’t. Couldn’t even _look_ at her—an’ when I did, she’d, uh, she’d died, an’ it was too late…”

Drax felt his heart stutter a little. So that was why Jason’s forgery had broken Peter so badly. The others realized this as well. Yondu’s eyes widened in sudden understanding, and Gamorra went pale. Rocket blinked hard and Groot whispered a weak but reassuring “Iamgroot…”

Peter paused for a second, looked round the utterly silent circle. Something flickered across his eyes. “Aw _hell_ , I said that out loud, didn’ I…” he slurred. Shame and guilt marred his pale features for a second, and Drax could not remain silent any longer.

“Do not be foolish, Quill.” he said bracingly. “Your mother does not hold that against you. She would have understood her son’s plight.”

Peter looked like he really wanted to believe him, but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

“Yeah.” Rocket said weakly, and Groot chirruped “IamGroot!” alongside of Yondu’s awkward and choked-out, “What the big one said, boyo, you don’t got _nuthin_ to be ashamed of.”

Peter blinked hard, looking suddenly very tired. “Bu’ it wasn’t her,” he said, his voice breaking. “She wasn’ in the cavern. Jason’d made a copy, and…and….” His voice trailed off again and he started to look panicked.

“…I don’t remember what happened after that, I can’t, I don’t, _I can’t_ —Gamorra, why can’t I remem—“

Gamorra cleared her throat, continued to smooth his hair back from his sweaty face. “Just…just don’t worry about that, Peter. Just trust us. Your mother was there. She did come, and we met her. She’s quite nice, and she adores you. You saved us all from that maniac of a planet. We blew him up.” She smiled encouragingly at him, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. His eyes had drifted, started staring off towards nothing again.

“…no…” he said, as if to himself. “Who'm I kiddin, she doesn’t want to see me again. She couldn’t. She wasn’t there, helpin. An’ I didn’t stop Jason. It was all pretend. Jus’ like I pretend to be a guardian…”

Rocket twitched, and Gamorra looked frightened. “Peter, stop, that’s not true—“

“Whoa, Petey, hang on there a second—“

Peter shook his head again, looked desperately back at Gamorra, at Yondu, at all of them, his eyes wide, expression frightened.

“…but I _promise_ , I don’ wanna help take over the galaxy, I’m not _that_ bad. I’m not, I’m not—I—“

He stopped, stared into the space directly over Drax’s shoulder. Drax swiftly turned his own head to see if anything was there.

There was not.

But Peter was still looking there, and he was clearly terrified out of his mind.

It was distinctly unnerving.

Then Peter winced, suddenly twisted his head to one side, as if trying to avoid something awful and unpleasant. “I _won’t_ ,” He gritted out between clenched teeth. “I won’t. I’m not gonna help ya, I don’ wanna be a battery, I’m not gunna—no, no, no, I don’ wanna do it, I won’t, I won’t, _I won’t_ —”

His voice had climbed so high he was practically screaming. Drax was not sure who he was talking to. It was none of the Guardians. Or even the Ravagers.

Oh.

No.

This was the different kind of enemy.

This was the enemy Drax could not see. Or fight.

It was like the enemies Gamorra fought at night in her dreams. Or the ones Rocket tried to claw away from whenever they had to take him to the infirmary. Drax had one himself. He met it almost every night since his wife and child died.

Peter had them too. But now this one, _this_ fear, was going to kill him. Mantis was unresponsive, and the Nova Corps had not come. Groot’s flowers were faint and dying, and Groot was sobbing as his energy began to give out and the final flowers began to flicker and die.

As the last few flowers began to wink out of existence, Peter’s eyes cleared, just for a moment. He slowly looked round him. He blinked up at Gamorra and Yondu, saw Drax holding Mantis, noticed Rocket’s tear-filled eyes, and, finally, rolled his eyes up and rested his gaze on Groot’s shivering little form. Peter blinked a little, then twitched his hand out from under Mantis’ limp one. He slowly reached up and gently brushed Groot’s shaking hands aside, pushing him a few centimeters away. Groot sobbed and wrapped his tiny fingers around Peter’s thumb, refusing to let go. Peter shook his head a couple of inches from side to side.

“Groot, buddy, jus’…jus’ stop, ‘kay? Don’ wan’ you ta…ta…ya know…too…”

Gamorra angrily cleared her throat. “You are _not_ going to die.” she said, almost fiercely.

Peter spared her a ghost of his former grin. “Yer’ a terrible liar, ‘morra.” he drawled. “Yer’ almost worse than Yondu’ here.”

He stopped talking for a second, his breathing starting to hitch again. “Uh….you guys …you take care of each other, ‘kay?”

Gamorra told him not to talk like that. Yondu told him not to be a soft idiot. Rocket didn’t say anything, but he and Drax shared an agonized look. Groot squeaked out a broken little “Iamgro…” and then crumpled over, the last flower fading even as Drax watched. Peter tried to grin at them one last time, then deliberately closed his eyes as the convulsions finally hit him again. Then…then he completely stopped breathing.

Drax did _not_ want to see Peter like that. He did not want to _ever_ see Peter like that, his eyes shooting open, wide and raw and scared as his face began to grey. And he did not _ever_ want to hear Gamorra, or Rocket, or Groot, or even Yondu scream the way they were screaming now.

But then the tattooed Ravager they’d forgotten about elbowed his way through them and plunged a needle as thick as Quill’s finger down the boy’s chest, pushing the syringe down as he yelled details of Pete’s condition seemingly into thin air.

For a moment, Drax did not understand. Then he saw the tiny communicator set in Kraglin’s ear, and he heard a faint tinny voice emanating from it. Kraglin was explaining things to them now. “—startin’ him on that sedative.” he said, his forehead furrowing in concentration as he relayed his instructions. “…uh, an’ Tullk’s sayin the med shuttle’s dockin in the bay right now, just next ta us—we jus’ gotta get Peter there, an’ they’ll take it from there—“

Yondu had started moving before the words were completely out of Kraglin’s mouth, sliding one arm underneath Peter’s shoulders and the other underneath Peter’s legs. The Centaurian captain was stronger than he looked, and hefted Peter up as if his son was still a child. He’d stood up and started striding for the infirmary almost before Kraglin finished injecting the last of the sedative into Peter’s twitching form.

Drax made as if to run after them, but froze as Mantis moaned and stirred a little in his arms. He heard Rocket howling in terrified fear and anger, and turned to see Rocket cradling a faded-looking little Groot between his paws, sobbing ‘Why didn’t ya _say_ you weren’t feelin so good, ya little—no, no, no, no, don’ cry, Groot, Petey’s gonna be fine, I promise, but ya can’t just pretend _yer_ fine when you’re—“

Gamorra had been staring numbly after Peter, but turned round at Rocket’s words. She blinked as she saw the way Rocket was favoring one leg, and her eyes widened as she saw the burns and blisters along one side of his body. Gamorra bent and picked Rocket up from behind, gently cradling him—Drax noted paternally—the way Camaria used to carefully cradle Mr. Rhinopuss. Rocket squeaked and clutched Groot closer to his own chest, momentarily unable to protest being carried anywhere.

“I’m taking you _both_ to the Ravager's infirmary.” Gamorra said firmly. She looked beseechingly at a Ravager who’d just run in.

“Where—“ she started to ask, but the big red-skinned pirate had already taken two large steps forward and swooped _her_ up. She stiffed indignantly, but Drax reprimanded her from behind as he slowly got to his feet, making sure to support Mantis’ head. “You are not in the peak of health yourself, former emerald assassin.” he said reprovingly. “You almost certainly harbor injuries from the fight in the caverns. And I distinctly remember seeing you smash into a control panel when the ship faltered back down on the planet. You should certainly seek medical attention.”

Gamorra looked as if she’d like to kill the Ravager carrying her using nothing but her own limbs and the right amount of leverage. She might have tried it too, but he gave her such a friendly, reassuring smile—and she had her own arms full of shivering Rocket and a limp little Groot—that she grudgingly allowed him to live. Also, she certainly was not in her typical top physical condition herself.

If the situation had not been so dire, Drax might have found the look on her face deeply amusing. Then he felt someone step up beside him and start to slide Mantis out of his arms. Drax growled deep in his throat and he tightened his grip on the girl. Someone scoffed beside him.

“Ye wanna help the lass or drop her? Yer choice, laddie.”

Drax snorted, his deep fury momentarily stopped short by the strange question. “I have no intention of dropping her!” he said indignantly.

“Didn’ say ye wanted to, lad.”

Drax realized he was staggering and belatedly remembered his own injuries sustained sometime during the last few hours. He looked down at one foot.

“I have a large piece of metal sticking out of my leg.” He informed the strange man.

“Tis true.”

“I think perhaps you should carry Mantis.”

“Twould be a grand idea.”

“But,” Drax warned, holding her back, just for a second, staring narrowly into the bearded man’s eyes, “if any harm comes to the small one, I will find you and rip out your spine through your throat.”

The bearded man nodded decisively. “Tis reasonable. Now, let’s git you lot fixed up.” A couple more Ravagers appeared out of nowhere and helped Drax limp after his friends.

“Why do you aid us?” Drax asked, as they headed towards the Ravager’s med bay. He was swiftly tiring, but needed to ensure his companions’ safety.

“Och, lad, tis simple. Yer part o’ Quill’s crew. That makes yew family.”

Drax raised a tired eyebrow as they passed a sealed cargo bay. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pile of limp, ragged bodies get ejected into space. They floated out, slowly drifting into the asteroid field.

“Were the corpses currently icing in space _not_ part of your crew?” He asked warily. The bearded Ravager’s eyes glinted in the light from the stars as they made their way down the catwalk.

“Technkly, I supp’se they were. But they were mutineers an’ backstabbers who thought sixty to one was fair odds in a fight. Also, they were a bunch of jackasses.”

“Did it matter that the one in the fight was Quill?”

“Aw, laddie, what makes you think that mattered atall?”

“I am not certain. But it seems this portion of Yondu’s crew shows a marked preference for the boy.”

“Psht. We’re not soft or weak, lad.”

“On the contrary. I never said you were.”

The Ravager’s eyes gleamed. “Now you’re gettin it.” He looked like he was about to say more, but the sounds of raucous arguing drifted towards them from the Ravager’s med bay.

Drax sighed. Sometimes it was hard being the levelheaded and mature one in their scrappy little family unit.

**“DESIST!”** he roared as he limped into the cramped room. **“THERE ARE INJURED HERE WHO NEED QUIET AND REST!!”**

Rocket and Gamorra’s heads whipped round towards him. They pointed at each other simultaneously.

“He’s not letting them take care of his burns until they splint a bruised arm! Drax, tell him he’s _stupid_!”

“Yew’ve got a BUSTED arm—in like, two places—and my burns are only _second_ -degree, thank yew _very_ much!”

“Iamgroot.” the little twig said plaintively, from the soft pile of cotton he was bundled up in. He coughed, once, then feebly sipped something cool and refreshing-looking out of a straw. The tattooed Ravager, hovering anxiously over him, glared reproachfully at the two scowling Guardians. “Listen ta that!” he scolded. “Yer makin him all upset with your arguin! So cut it out!”

Rocket and Gamorra instantly broke off their argument, looking ashamed of themselves.

“Indeed.” Drax said, thumping laboriously forward once Mantis had been carried inside. “It is foolish to waste time with this nonsense. No, I do _not_ require assistance.” he snapped, batting away a pro-offered hand.“This is nothing. I am no stranger to pain. I have removed worse shrapnel than this pathetic splinter from my abdomen, and cauterized the wound with my weapons. Aid the child and my comrades first.”

The bearded Ravager stared at him. Even Rocket and Gamorra stopped glaring at each other and looked at him, eyes huge and wondering, looking suddenly much younger. Drax _hrrmphed_ and schooled his expression into one of intense indifference. His leg did hurt. A lot. But it could certainly wait until the other priorities were taken care of. And he’d clobber anyone who said otherwise.

“I….iam…groot.” Groot moaned, and Rocket’s face went pale with anger and worry. “Don’t _yew_ start bein a difficult patient!” he snarled at Drax.

Drax opened his mouth in an indignant reply, then felt a sudden numbness spreading up from the back of his hand. Through dimming eyes, he saw a sedative patch had been expertly slapped on. Probably by one of the Ravagers when he hadn’t been looking. He blinked slowly, then looked over at his friends. Rocket had stretched luxuriously, one claw still grimly holding onto one of Groot’s tiny finger tendrils. Then he’d then slowly gone limp and quiet. His pained expression eased into unconsciousness even as Drax watched.

Across from Rocket, Gamorra shook her head, once. The glare she turned on the friendly red-skinned one—Beyren—was less intense than usual. She looked at the patch on the back of her hand, then glared back at him.

“When did I say you could do that?” she growled. Beryen swallowed, looking slightly distressed. “Right before yer friend came in. And I asked you if I could like, two times.” Gamorra glared suspiciously. “Hm.”

She blinked, then stared down at the bottle of clear water she held in her hand. She brought it up to her face, blinked sluggishly as she saw half the contents had already been drunk. She thrust it at Beyren’s face. “And when did I drink _this_?!” she demanded again. Beyren all but shrank away from her. “Jus’ now.” he said, his voice a little weaker than before. “Yew asked for it….twice….?”

Gamorra scowled, then turned an inquiring eye towards Groot. He gave her a reassuring nod. “IamGroot.” he said kindly. Gamorra nodded once in reply. Then she settled back on her own cot, eyes closing. In a few seconds, her stern face relaxed into sleep. Drax blinked over at Mantis, who’d been carefully set onto a cot of her own. Her color was good, and her breathing slow, but regular.

Groot saw his look and beamed sunnily at him, with rather more energy than he’d shown just seconds before. “Iamgrooooooooot.” he cooed, and Drax felt a large yawn split his face. He grunted, then settled back onto his cot, feeling his eyes start to slide shut.

As the tattooed one—Kraglin, Drax remembered—turned back from Beyren with his hands full of medical supplies, Drax saw one side of his face contort suddenly.

Even stranger, he saw one of Groot’s eyes contort back.

This dimly worried Drax. Perhaps this strange eye spasm was becoming infectious. He started to say something, but sleep rose up and gently claimed him.

From his cocoon of cotton swabs, Groot happily surveyed his sleeping friends. He took another slow sip of the special cold drink that Beyren’d found for him out of one of the coolers.

“I. am. _Groot_.” he said smugly.

Kraglin spared him a look as he began carefully working on Gamorra’s arm. “Ye’re a sharp little thing.” he said slowly.

Groot widened his eyes until they could widen no more. “Iam _groot_?” he said innocently. Kraglin’s mouth curved up to one side in a reluctantly admiring smile.

“Yeaaaaah, yer jus’ like Quill.” he said to himself. Beside him, Beyren was practically melting. “Awwwwww.” he said ecstatically. “He’s so _adorable_! Can we keep—I mean, can he stay with us? Until he’s better, that is? And until his friends are better?”

Kraglin shot Groot an appraising look. Like Taserface had noted, Kraglin hadn’t gotten to be Yondu’s second in command for nothing. The Ravager saw the friendliness and the curiosity in Groot’s eyes. But he also saw more than a little canniness, and a fiercely loyal fire burning just under those wide brown pools of cute.

“Sure he can stay.” he said slowly. “….’Sides.” he drawled. “I don’ think the lil’ guy would leave even if we asked ‘m to.”

Groot’s eyes crinkled conspiratorially at the corners as he caught Kraglin’s look, and he took another tired, yet satisfied sip of his drink. “I am Groot.” he said contentedly.

Kraglin grinned, and did not disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	40. Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've done all they can. And it still isn't enough.

“He is _not_ **allowed** ta die.” Yondu told Tullk for the fifteenth time. They were outside the Nova Corps med shuttle, and Tullk was fairly sure Yondu’d worn a groove in the metal catwalk outside of it.

Tullk’d come up an hour or so before and reported that the other Guardians were stable and resting, and that the rest of Yondu’s crew were either getting their own injuries treated or were working on fixing the ship.

Yondu nodded absently, his eyes fixed on the slim grey doors. “Good, good. Thas’ good.”

Tullk fidgeted a little, then ventured a question. “Cap’n, do yew wanna see someone about that—“ he made an awkward motion towards the back of his head, “thing? I did what I could, an’ I know Ms. Quill worked on it too, but I think you’d better—“

“Not now, Tullk.”

“But, cap’n—“

“Not _now_ , Tullk.”

Tullk dropped the subject. He saw his captain’s gaze harden as he stared at the doors.

“He didn’ know me, Tullk.” he said woodenly. “Ther’ at the end. He didn’ know who I was. Wanted ta know what’d happened to his ma.”

Tullk swallowed hard. Ravagers—especially high-ranking Ravagers—did not cry. Or sniffle. Or feel like bawling. Even when they asked questions that they did not want to know the answer to.

“…at the…end?” he quavered.

Yondu sniffed hard and shot him an angry look. “‘Afore the doctor pushed me outta the shuttle.” he snapped. “Ya _idjit_.”

Tullk swiped a grimy hand over his eyes. “Yeah, of course. Yep. Uh…” he looked round the deserted catwalk. Different levels and various compartments away, furious banging rang out through the ship. Yondu’s crew tended to work on the ship when they were angry, troubled, or stressed. If nothing needed fixing, there were always inessential systems that could be torn apart and then hotwired back together as a suitable means of stress relief. It sounded like they were whaling away at fixing the engines now, but Tullk wouldn’t have been surprised if a couple of other systems had been angrily smashed out of shape and were now being hammered back into place.

(Inessential systems had once been very loosely defined, but the critical “ **Systems Not To Screw With List** ” had been made after Quill’s infamous tinker-with-the-artificial-gravity-debacle when he was fourteen. That the kid’d been able to shut off the artificial gravity across the entire ship was incredible. What’d made it slightly less amusing was that he hadn’t known how to turn it back on. Tullk fondly remembered the kid trying to outswim an infuriated Yondu in zero g. Good times.)

Then the door to the Nova Corps shuttle hissed open, and Tullk’s heart leapt into his throat, all fond memories of better days forgotten. Yondu got to the door before him, his frantic eyes asking the question his voice could not.

The masked doctor leaning out of the door looked tired, his eyes worn and weary. He asked Yondu something in a low voice, and when Yondu shook his head, the doctor’s shoulders slumped.

“Wha is it?” Tullk whispered, coming up behind his captain. “Wha’ is it?”

Yondu’s voice was almost as dead as his eyes. “We don’ have any a’ those cuttin edge experimental cryo-crystals. Do we?”

Tullk shook his head. “Nah…” he said slowly. “Last time we coulda grabbed em was that last raid we did on the warehouses on Lendar ‘bout a year back. But Quill wouldn’t let us grab em. Said they weren’t for the takin. Said medical supplies, especially the ones in rare supply, weren’t up for grabs. Punched Taserface out over it, if I recall correctly.”

Yondu’d already known the answer, but he’d asked it all the same. Tullk swallowed hard. Asked a similar question of his own. “Why do ya…?"

Yondu said nothing, but looked over at the doctor. The doctor took in a deep, tired breath. “The boy’s taken too much damage.” he said simply. He rubbed at one spiny white eyebrow with a tired hand.

Yondu swallowed hard, his eyes flicking from side to side. “From the tetanus thing?” he asked. His voice grew harsh with fear. “I thought there somethin you could _do_ for that.”

The doctor nodded, unfazed by Yondu’s tone, his own steady, even. “I’ve done what I can. Don’t get me wrong, the tetanus itself could kill him. It’s a severe case and often proves fatal. I was able to finish sedating him and start him on a ventilator. With time and luck…” the doctor shrugged, a gesture not of hopelessness or unconcern, but rather one of weary grief.

“…he might have recovered. But…” he swallowed, forced himself to continue. “The boy doesn’t _have_ time. The rest of the damage is too much for his body to handle.”

Yondu blinked furiously. “What could those cryo-crystals do?” he asked. The doctor shrugged again. “Theoretically,” he said, exhaustion creeping into his voice, “they could buy us—buy him—time. It could quicken his body’s natural healing processes and give him a chance to fight off the infection.”

The doctor broke off again. “Theoretically. They’re still in the early stages of testing the crystals, and normally I don’t advocate using them without previous trials.”

“But at this point?” Yondu said flatly. The doctor’s face was grave. “It would have been the only way.”

Yondu nodded, once. “All right.” he said decisively. “Tullk, find the nearest location wit’ those crystals.” Tullk’d already started punching in the necessary information onto his wristband. The doctor tried saying something, but Tullk overrode him. “Em, the closest one is three days away, Cap’n, in a warehouse on Releant. We can get there in two and a half days if we slingshot around a couplea moons.”

“Do it.”

“But, sir—“

“Do it, Tullk!”

_“Sir!”_ The doctor’d laid an insistent hand on Yondu’s arm. The Ravager captain tore himself free of the grip and glared at him, eyes bright. “What?!” he demanded. “You said you needed the crystals, so we’ll getchu the flarging crystals if we gotta blast through half of the Nova Corps fleet ta do it. So _what_? Is this about some damn _protocol_? Cuz I ain’t above making you ride along wit’ us by force if it means savin’ my boy.”

The doctor’s eyes were bleak over the surgical mask, but his voice was iron hard. “ _Flarg_ protocol, Udonta. This is about _time_. Your boy doesn’t have three days. He doesn’t even have _one_.”

Yondu swallowed at this, the furious fire dying out of his eyes quite suddenly. When he spoke next, his voice was much quieter.

“How much time does he have?” he asked.

The doctor sighed. “His friends, the other Guardians, are resting, I assume?” he asked. Yondu nodded.

“How long would it take to wake them up?”

Yondu looked over at Tullk, who gnawed his lower lip nervously. “Uh, they’re still sedated, but, I mean, if we had to, a couplea minutes, ten, fifteen, mebbe. Why?”

The doctor looked shrunken, somehow. “You’d better hurry. Or they won’t get here in time.”

Yondu went ashen. Tullk swallowed, then turned and staggered a few steps towards the walkway. Tullk didn’t want to believe this was happening. He didn’t want to think about the expression on his captain’s face. He didn’t want to think about how quiet the damn ship, the damn galaxy, would be without that dast little Star-Prince—King—Lord—whatever—in it. He didn’t want to see the look on Beyren’s face, Kraglin’s face, the little twig’s face when they learned the news.

Tullk forced himself to focus, then _ran_ down the catwalk towards the Ravager’s med bay. He might not be able to keep Quill from dyin, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna have the kid die _alone_ if he could help it.

Sudden, hollow, booming thumps from the cargo bay he was passing made him nearly jump out of his skin. It sounded as if dozens of fighters had, en masse, descended upon that particular section of the ship and were trying to tear it to pieces. Tullk turned, drawing his blaster, and blinked in astonishment as all he saw was two figures emphatically thumping on the clear doors. He squinted. They were wearing Nova Corps space walking uniforms. And one looked an awful lot like—

Tullk jammed one big hand down on the controls, sealing the outside hull and releasing the interior door to let the newcomers in.

_“Nova Prime?”_ he said, unbelievingly. The white-haired figure deactivating her helmet—hey, that design looked a lot like Quill’s for some reason—tossed it to the side and moved quickly past him, deactivating her spacesuit and slipping the packet into her jacket pocket with neat, surgical precision. The curly-haired man behind her followed her lead, bringing out a small packet which he clutched tightly in one hand.

“Shuttle.” the woman said crisply, and Tullk all but broke his neck sprinting ahead of them, back towards where he’d left his captain.

Once she got to the shuttle, Nova Prime did not waste precious seconds. She rapped imperiously at the grey doors, and, when they opened, slipped her way gracefully inside with a speed that didn’t quite seem humanly possible. Day slipped in after her, the packet outstretched in one shaking hand.

Tullk was left outside, staring at the doors, and wondering what the hell had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	41. Unexpected Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA Nova Prime is having none of your red-tape bullcrap, 
> 
> AKA Nova Prime is a BOSS, all caps, thank you very much

Nova Prime had _not_ expected to find a Ravager ship at the meeting coordinates Quill had given her.

She _certainly_ hadn’t expected it to be the _same_ Ravager ship that had attacked her fleet, taken Peter Quill hostage, and then warped into the far reaches of space just hours before.

But, somehow, despite all odds—despite the leftover gravitational effects from the planet that was no longer there, despite an ugly asteroid field and all the chaos of an emergency rescue mission—Star-Lord’s comms had come back online—and someone had _noticed_.

Against all odds of physics and probability, the hailing channel for the Ravager ship had also made it through the static.

Even more miraculously, someone else had _listened_.

Initially, half of the Nova Corps escort had wanted to riddle the Ravager ship with proton missiles in revenge for trying to assassinate their leader and for brutally beating up one of their favorite allies. The other half of the escort strenuously objected to such a crude and elemental proceeding. They’d wanted to storm the ship, hunt down and subdue each Ravager personally, and _then_ riddle the ship with proton torpedoes.

Denaarian Day had objected to both plans. _How_ , he had pointed out, would they take all of the Ravagers back to Xandar for _grueling lifelong hard labor sentences_ if they didn’t _keep_ the Ravager ship to transport the prisoners _in_?

Nova Prime had cut off dark hints from some of the commanders that maaaaybe in this case they could just sort of forget the whole “taking prisoners” and “innocent until proven guilty” part, and had started to order a thorough search for the Guardians—when a voice had cut in over her comms.

For the briefest instant, she could have sworn that it was voice of her old friend Saul, who’d perished months before in Ronan’s attack on Xandar. He sounded annoyed—he’d always sounded annoyed—but the strangest thing about it was that the words _weren’t_ old snatches and weren’t echoes of previous broadcasts.

**_“—linor!! Get—on the comms! Get them—comms!! Get them on the comms! ELINOR!!”_ **

He’d never once called her Elinor over the comms systems. Not while he was alive, at any rate.

Once she’d directed her considerable resources towards following the brief and ethereal tip, and they’d actually gotten the Ravager ship in on the comms, she’d discovered they were frantically radioing for aid. Almost simultaneously, feed patched in from Star-Lord’s transmitter. It buzzed with static and was maddeningly faint, but the little they could hear matched up with the Ravagers’ far-flung story (about a mutiny and a sentient planet and a ghost and Quill dying) to the point where Nova Prime authorized sending in a state-of-the-art shuttle. Immediately.

But apparently, a certain lower-ranking customs official had taken it upon herself to revaluate what “immediately’ meant. Upon a brief but furious investigation, it turned out she cared more for the cost of the shuttle than for the boy’s life. All prattle about the “necessary decontamination process”—which, incidentally, was supposed to take place _after_ a mission, not _before_ —was more a smokescreen than anything else.

Nova Prime had very nearly lost her legendary self-control and broken her tablet over the arrogant witch’s head. She’d satisfied herself with snarling a cold “ _Get **out**_.” and, after the door had slammed shut behind the fleeing self-satisfied know it all, abruptly turned to Denarrian Day. Since losing Saul, he was one of the few people she was familiar with enough to trust with a mission of this kind.

“From Krystian’s message, he doesn’t think even the shuttle will have everything he needs.” she said, crisply.

Day nodded, looking worried. “What else could he need? I saw the inventory myself, he’s got pretty much everything we could offer.”

Nova Prime nodded to herself, then opened her desk and withdrew a thin dark box, the seal of the foremost medical institute on Xandar embossed in the shining wood. She punched in the access code (it was her dead grandson’s name), and withdrew two shining crystals each wrapped in dark cloth, one of which she handed to Day. “Take one, just in case we get separated.”

“Cyro-crystals?” Day said, his wide eyes round with surprise. “Nova Prime, I didn’t even—I mean, are these—?”

“Experimental, yes, unpredictable, true.” she said briskly. “But I believe Peter Qui—Star-Lord— doesn’t have many options left to him.”

Day inspected his crystal tentatively. “How’d you—“

“Manage to get two of them?” Prime smiled at her subordinate as she rummaged in her desk drawer. She found what she was looking for and flipped them onto her desk. “They were complimentary gifts from the researchers a few months ago. Supposed to be a symbol of hope and a tactful request for support.” She smiled as she fastened a portable spacesuit to the lapel of her businesslike jacket. “When they gave them to me, I had no idea how hard it would be to even try and get any more through the regular channels. Months of paperwork and multiple approvals even to look at one. Quite tedious.”

Day watched what she was doing and began to look a little nervous.

“Ma’m, what are you—“

“Denarrian Day. I believe we are experiencing some worrisome instability in this cabin.”

Day looked blankly at her, then around as if he could physically see the non-existent problem. Nova Prime rolled her eyes.

“I _said_ ,’ she emphasized, “I _believe_ we are experiencing some _instability_ —“ she reached out and jostled a nearby table so that the vase standing on it wobbled dangerously—“in this _cabin_. I believe,” she said meaningfully, “that we should _evacuate_ , just to be _safe_.”

Day looked puzzled. Then her meaning hit him. He flashed her a bright grin but only just managed to keep his tone studiously professional. “Ah—uh—yes, ma’m, I would advise leaving the cabin as well.” At a nod from her, he came behind her heavy desk and helped her heft it up, tipping it over so that it blocked the doorway.

“Ah, me.” Nova Prime said evenly, accidentally-on-purpose mashing various buttons on her control panel with the edge of the box. “Our exit back into the ship is blocked and the emergency sealing mechanism has just kicked in, sealing this cabin off from the rest of the ship. What _are_ we to do, Denarrian?”

Day gestured to the large bay window looking out onto space. “I believe we should use our emergency spacesuits to safely leave the danger zone.” he said seriously. “And we should not forget our jetpacks, ma’m. In case we find ourself suddenly and inexplicably adrift in space, without an easy way back into our own ship.”

Nova Prime smiled fondly at Day. “Indeed.” As he put his spacesuit on, and adjusted his jetpack accordingly, Prime radioed the head of her fleet. Who, she knew from previous experience, was probably standing three feet outside her door, a resigned expression on his face.

“Oh, Admiral McCoy,” she said sweetly. “My cabin’s been compromised. The seal activated so I’m heading out the airlock with Denarrian Day. Do keep the fleet together while I”m out. There shouldn’t be too much activity, since the planet we came here to fight has already been destroyed, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

Ian McCoy sighed heavily over the comms. “ _Really_ , Elinor? Your cabin’s been compromised _again_?”

Nova Prime smiled slightly to herself as she and Denarrian Day shot out from her cabin, aiming their trajectory for the Ravager ship. “Now, now, Ian, just because your office isn’t constantly compromised doesn’t mean you get to complain about mine. You’re reliable, I trust you. Just manage the fleet until I get back.”

McCoy sounded tense. “I don’t trust that Ravager bunch.” he said darkly. “You’re putting yourself out on the line for them.”

“No, I’m not. I’m putting myself out on the line for Peter Quill. And you heard their transmission. That sentient planet set up this entire thing. Yondu Udonta was just another pawn in the game. Besides, the Ravagers who were the problem are…gone, it seems like.”

“Are you sure?!”

Ahead of her, Day jerked in surprise and shot hard to his left. Nova Prime followed suit and studiously ignored the still-surprised looking Ravager-shaped ice cube that floated by her. It was the big insect who’d held Quill up like a slab of meat during the hostage call. Not that she’d taken careful note what that Ravager looked like. It wasn’t as if _she’d_ been planning to space his ass herself if she got the chance.

“Fairly sure they’re gone.” she said instead. “We’re going in to meet with friendly allies on a medical mission, Ian. I’m sure of it.”

McCoy growled unhappily. “I still don’t like you going alone, Elinor.”

Nova Prime sniffed. “I’m not going alone. I’m taking Day.”

McCoy sounded grumpy. “That round-faced walking ball of sunshine? He isn’t _nearly_ intimidating enough to have as your escort on that Ravager ship.”

Nova Prime hid a smile. “You’re just jealous I’m not taking you.”

“Well, you _haven’t_ , for three solar cycles.” McCoy sulked. Then his voice lost its wryly bantering tone and turned grave. “I don’t like it, Elinor. Couldn’t you have sent anyone else? One of the medics, perhaps?”

Even though she knew he couldn’t see her, Nova Prime shook her head slightly as she and Day got closer to the Ravager ship and cruised round it, searching for an easy entry point. Day jerked his head towards a nearby cargo bay, and Nova Prime followed him in.

“No. I don’t have time to brief anyone else on the experimental methods they’re trying with the cryo-crystals.” Her eyes narrowed as she and Day hovered near the safety doors. “Besides. I wasn’t a nurse for fifteen years—and the mother of four boys—for nothing, you know.” Her voice turned brisk and businesslike. “Hail the Ravager ship on the comms. Tell them we’re coming in.”

Ian’s voice was rough with frustration. “We’re _trying_. The damn quadrant’s a flarging mess of static. If a dead planet could be spiteful, I’d say it fried most of their comms systems just before it exploded.”

Nova Prime’s lips thinned as she remembered the flat and hostile alien intelligence that had looked out from behind Yondu Udonta’s eyes. “I think it was.” she said simply. “Keep trying, though.”

Day’d started thumping on the clear doors of the cargo bay, grim determination etching his usually friendly features. “I know it’s a long shot,” she heard him say over their comms, “but it’s worth a try.”

Nova Prime shrugged and grimly started hammering her fists against it herself. Their odds were not good. Two people beating on the doors of a single cargo bay—of a ship this size—had about as much chance of being heard as a gnat during a thunderstorm.

Although, come to think of it, the glass doors were vibrating rather more emphatically than she’d thought. Almost as if unseen allies were helping her and Day attract what attention they could.

But sound didn’t carry in space.

So it _certainly_ didn’t sound to her like two fleets were strafing the bay with laser fire. Or that multiple voices in multiple languages were hollering various imprecations at the doors. She certainly didn’t recognize any of the voices buzzing in and out over her comms.

Not exactly.

But one did sound--almost-- _almost_ like--Saul--

Then a bewildered looking Ravager was looking out at them, and the doors were hissing open, and Nova Prime was sprinting into the medical shuttle and snatching the second crystal from Day’s outstretched hand.

A red-eyed Yondu Udonta looked up from the still form on the operating table and stared at her. If she’d had any doubt of the truth, it evaporated when she saw the expression in his eyes.

“I’m here to help.” she said briskly. “Now, out while I try and save him.”

Yondu looked at her blankly. She held up the cryo-crystals in one impatient hand, then handed them to Krystian as she started washing up at the small sink the shuttle had. She jerked her head towards the door again. “Out.” she said shortly. “We need all the space we can get. We’ll let you know if anything changes.” She took a small pair of scissors from a nearby tray and started cutting away at the muddy and sodden cloth still stuck to Peter’s chest. She looked up to see Yondu still staring at her.

_“Out.”_ she said, her tone final. “I was a nurse in the Xandarian First Response Unit for fifteen years, I know what I’m doing, and if if you don’t leave now, I swear by each and every star in the galaxy I will shock you so badly that your _arrows_ will malfunction. **OUT.** ”

Then, for the first and last time in his life, Yondu Udonta, captain of the Ravagers, obeyed a direct order from a duly elected official.

***

Outside the shuttle, Tullk eyed the second Nova Corpsman. Denariaan Day eyed him back.

“So yer’ here to help.” Tullk said slowly.

Day nodded.

“But yer Nova Corps.” Tullk pointed out.

Day nodded again. “Nova Prime wanted to offer aid in whatever way she could. I came along to personally inspect the Ravager threat for myself.”

Tullk looked sideways at the listing catwalks and the sparking controls of the damaged Ravager ship. “There ain’t no Ravager threat. Leastways, not now.”

Day followed his gaze, nodded, then shrugged. “Confirmed.” His even voice changed, dropped a few tones lower. “How’s the kid?” he asked.

Tullk glowered at a bent railing a few feet to Day’s left. “Not great.”

He chanced a quick glance at Day and was in time to see his expression look almost as miserable as Tullk’s own. Tullk swiftly returned his gaze to the railing and coughed. “Were those…cryo-crystals yer boss took inta the shuttle?” he wanted to know.

Day nodded minutely, his own gaze fixed stoically on a ceiling fixture a few inches to Tullk’s right.

Tullk’s eyes widened. “Why would ya bring somethin so valuable here?!” he wanted to know.

Day shrugged. “Uh…they were a…solstice present. For Star-Lord. A way of sayin thank you for…you know. Helping Xandar not turn into a black hole. Nova Prime figured they were…a….unique collector’s item.”

Tullk's grin showed all of his terrible teeth. “Heh.” He studiously studied his railing again. “The kid don’t collect crystals.” he said off-handedly.

Day smiled a little at his ceiling fixture. “Shame.” he said seriously.

“Now, obnoxious Terran music, on ta’ other hand…” Tullk pointed out.

Day raised an eyebrow. “Oh _stars,_ he blares it when he’s around you lot too, does he?”

“All the flarging time.”

“But it is kind of catchy.”

“Tis true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	42. Status Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't disturb the patient.

Later that evening, an exhausted Broker and a grey-eyed Nova Prime met with Yondu and the Guardians just inside the small Infirmary shuttle. It was a little crowded, but they managed. Drax and Yondu stood just inside the doorway closest to the Broker and the head of the Nova Corps. Rocket had squeezed into the shuttle itself and now leaned on the middle of Peter’s bed, his small furry face fixed and intent on his friend’s grey one, Groot anxiously watching the proceedings from his perch on Rocket’s shoulder. Gamorra stood the farthest away from the door, one hand lightly resting on Peter’s undamaged shoulder.

Her touch seemed surprisingly gentle, given that Drax had seen her take down Kree fanatics with a backhand blow. Her friend hid a tired, if proud, grin of approval. It was always good when romantic attraction was acknowledged. (He decided not to congratulate her on it yet. It would only be fair to wait until Quill woke up to congratulate them both). Besides, now was not yet the time for rejoicing.

The tired eyes of the physicians told him so. As well as many long and complicated phrases Drax was not familiar with. He frowned as the white-browed doctor—Drax suddenly remembered he was known as the Broker—paused for breath. Drax thought now was as good a time as any to get to the heart of the matter.

“You are saying he is not yet recovered. How long until he does recover his warrior’s strength?” He said, careful to keep his voice low. The Broker looked tiredly at him, then seemed to realize Drax was sincerely curious. He exchanged a look with Nova Prime, who shook her head slowly.

“Weeks.” the Broker said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He turned to look more fully at Quill. “Perhaps months.” He paused and looked at the lot of them. “ _When_ was the wound inflicted?” he asked wearily. “He should have been showing signs of this _days_ ago. Why, in the name of the **_Allfather_** , did you wait this _long_ to treat him?”

Drax frowned at this. “In our time, he received the wound less than a day ago.” he rumbled. He thought about that. Just this morning—in their time—Peter had been blasting his music in the Milano. Had been twirling around the ship with that long coat of his getting in everyone’s way, had been dancing with Groot, and trying—and still failing—to dance with Gamorra. Had irritated Rocket and nearly driven Drax mad with his endless jabbering.

Just this morning.

And now…

Now he was grey, and still, and quiet, covered with a white blanket on a bed, and entangled with machines Drax did not like. He forced himself to stay focused on the irritable doctor and tried to explain the strange situation more fully.

“Quilll was taken to a planet where time is…where time was…”

He frowned, trying to think of a way to explain it.

“Time was different down there.” Rocket supplied, voice faded and tired. He was looking searchingly at Quill, at the tubes and the wires running into and around his friend. Rocket shivered a little and instinctively, it seemed, drew a little closer to Gamorra. Without looking, she reached down and rubbed behind one ear. That seemed to calm him, and some of the building tension slid out of his bandaged shoulders.

“It was longer.” Gamorra continued. “Ten minutes here was roughly one day down on the planet’s surface. We got him back after about an hour our time. But it’d been almost a week down there.”

Nova Prime and the Broker exchanged looks, and the Broker frowned thoughtfully. “Hm. That would explain the rapid progression of his symptoms.” he mused. He looked tiredly back at his patient, then at the worried faces around him.

“What I am saying,” he said, shoulders bent, “is that healing this will take _time_.” He paused, then continued onwards. “And that there is a high chance of complications.”

Drax frowned at this, moved a little restlessly. “What sort of complications?”

The Broker sighed, shrugged one shoulder, glanced briefly at a nearby screen. “Respiratory failure, cardiac arrest, pulmonary embolism, pneumonia.” He said, dully.

Drax cocked his head at the last one. Rocket supplied the information for him. “Yer lungs don’t work right and they drown ya.” he said bluntly. The Broker winced, but acknowledged the truth of the summary with a nod of his head.

Yondu, who’d been restlessly chewing at his lip this whole time, lifted his head sharply up at that. “How can we make sure non’a those happen?” he asked tersely. The Broker considered. “There’s no guarantee, but we can certainly closely monitor his progress. I can make sure he’s getting enough antibiotics—uh, medicine—“ he amended, at Yondu’s slightly muddled look—“but…” his shoulders slumped a little. “Well…we’ll just have to see how he does. He needs time. And rest.”

Nova Prime cut in, casting a reassuring smile towards the pale-faced Guardians. She even smiled a little at Yondu. “The good news is, he’s still hanging on.” she said bracingly. The Broker sniffed a little. “Thanks to those cryo-crystals you brought.” he said, voice tired with long-held tension. “For awhile there it was still touch and go. We’re just lucky you were able to make sure his heart didn’t stop.”

Drax felt his own heart drop a little, and saw Gamorra’s face pale. Nova Prime cast a slightly quelling look at the twitchy doctor. “ _Yes._ ” She said, meaningfully. “But that being said, he is looking much better than he did this morning. His vitals are weak, but stable, and I don’t see any signs of further infection.” She elaborated, seeing the confused twist of Gamorra’s head. “One of the things the cyro-crystals are meant to do is find and eradicate infection. It was too late for them to stop the tetanus from taking hold, but the rest of his wounds…well. Let’s just say they’re finally—and truly—on the mend.”

Gamorra’s mouth twitched as she studied the raw, angry red marks on Peter’s collarbone. “Are you sure?” she said quietly. “I don’t—I don’t want to see them…see them reopen again.” She swallowed, hard. “Not _ever_.”

Nova Prime briefly put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You have my word that they will not.” she said quietly. Some of the tightness around Gamorra’s eyes faded, and Drax fought back a visible swallow of his own.

Rocket twitched his tail a little, then blurted out a question. “When is he gonna wake up?” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “Groot wants me ta ask.” He muttered. “Mantis did too.”

Nova Prime tried to smile, but instead she looked sad. “I’m afraid I don’t quite know. We have to be sure the toxins are out of his system before we remove the ventilator. Otherwise he could simply perish from lack of oxygen.”

***

Rocket flicked his tail restlessly as he stared unhappily at the tube placed carefully between Peter’s lips. He didn’t like making the slow, regular _hssssshhhing_ sounds the machine made as it breathed for his friend. He didn’t like how quiet Pete was with it on. His face was all slack and he just didn’t look right. Quill didn’t sleep half-layin down, half-sittin up.

He slept sprawled all over the place, and muttered and yelled and grinned and frowned and sang songs in his sleep. He was the worst shipmate _ever,_ and Rocket freaking _missed_ it. Quill was loud and obnoxious. He was never freaking silent like this. Most of all, Rocket really didn’t like the way the flarging mask had to be held in place with a strap around the back of Peter’s head.

“Petey’s gonna _hate_ this.” he said gloomily. “He told me about these once. Said he’d needed it for a different kinda sickness.” He flicked his eyes at Yondu. “Wasn’t it pneumonia he got real bad once? When he was little?”

Yondu nodded, eyes fixed on the still form on the bed. Rocket continued. “Said you hunted down a healer who knew Terran medicine. Or something close enough to it ta help.”

Yondu nodded again, still not saying anything. Rocket went on, tail twitching as he looked up at his friend again. “Is it true the only thing that kept him from ripping out the tubes and jumpin out the airlock were his tunes?”

***

Nova Prime saw Yondu jerk straight up at that, eyes flashing. “Yeah.” he whispered, eyes shining fiercely. “Yeah.” Without another word, he stood up, opened the doors to the infirmary shuttle with a wave of his hand. Then he outright growled at the sight that met his eyes.

Most—no, all—of the other Ravagers on the ship were just outside, peering hopefully inside as best they could.

“Cap’n?” a tattooed one asked, voice a whisper. “How’s he doin?”

Yondu hrmphed and made an angry sweeping motion with one hand. “Follow me.” he growled, almost too low to hear. “Come on. He’s not wakin up anytime soon.” He strode off down the catwalk, worn boots thumping rhythmically on the beaten metal. The tattooed one looked disappointed, then poked his head around the door. His face paled as he saw Peter’s form, and he jerked his head back out. Nova Prime heard him swearing softly, just outside the door.

“What’sa matter, Kraglin?” she heard one of them say.

“Kid’s on one a’ them _ventilator_ things.” the first one hissed.

Another voice, thicker, deeper, with a heavy burr on some of the syllables. “Krutak. Quill can’t _stand_ those.”

“Yeah.” another voice chimed in. “Remember when he had pnemonia? An’ he couldn’t do nuthin but sleep? Kid was all but climbin the walls. He hates ‘dem things.”

Inside the shuttle, the Destroyer shot Nova Prime a concerned look. “I do not think Star-Lord is in any shape to be climbing walls. Are you sure you gave him enough sedative?”

Nova Prime bit her lip to keep from smiling. He was clearly concerned for his friend. “Yes, Drax.” she said, proud to hear her voice came out perfectly even and serious. “I am sure.”

Outside, the muttered whisperings were still going on.

“What’d we do last time? Hit him on the head?”

“Naw, we only did that once, didn’t help him any. Then the cap’n said the next person who knocked Quill unconscious for no good reason was gettin’ airlocked.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

The one they’d called Kraglin snapped his fingers. “Wait! His tunes!” There was an excited swell in the whispering chorus.

“Yeah!”

“His tunes!”

“Don’t he have em?”

Kraglin stuck his head in again, checked, cursed, then pulled it back out again.

“No!”

“Why not?!”

“We gotta find em!”

“But if Quill don’t have ‘em, where would they—“

A low whistle and a thin streak of red light shot up from the levels below them. The chatter outside of the shuttle cut off as if severed with a knife. Faint, but still perfectly audible, the voice of the captain drifted up from a few floors below the shuttle.

“The boy,” it growled, “needs ta _rest_. This ain’t no regulr’ illness, see. He’s dast lucky this wasn’t his _last_ solar cycle. An’ your _chatterin_ ain’t gonna help him _nohow_. So, ‘less you wan’ ‘im ta get _worse_ , you’re gonna _shaddup_ and get your scruffy selves down ‘ere, _now_. _Unnerstand_?”

The Ravagers crowded round the door looked at each other, then back at Quill’s still form. There was a strangely heavy silence, as if they’d never quite encountered this situation before. Nova Prime, keeping one hand on the boy’s limp, still too-hot wrist, counting out his heartbeats and measuring out the next dose of sedative, realized what their silence reminded her of. One of her granddaughters—Cylie—had adopted a puppy. Scruffy mop of fur, caused no end of trouble. Then the little thing had gone and gotten itself hit by a passing speedster. Cylie’s sisters—who had been the loudest to express their intense dislike of the pesky little thing, at length and at volume—had, much to everyone’s surprise, been almost as inconsolable as Cylie. Long and short of it was, they’d grown used to the little mongrel. And when they’d lost it…well. They didn’t quite know what to do.

That strange silence in the Ravager ship lasted for probably half a minute more, but there was no change in Quill’s condition. Even though the grimy faces in the archway waited hopefully for any sign of one. Then one of the Ravagers—the one called Kraglin, a thin man, with scraggy hair and a surprisingly heartsick expression on his tattooed face—jerked his head back towards the bridge, making silent military hand gestures as if they were engaging in the most important firefight of their lives.

As one, the ragtag group of space pirates slunk away. They took surprising care not to make any noise.

As the infirmary doors hissed shut behind them, Rocket shared surprised, then dismayed looks with Drax and Gamorra. The Broker and Nova Prime just looked faintly puzzled.

“His ‘tunes’?” Nova Prime said, bewildered.

Rocket’s ears flattened. He looked pleadingly up at Drax and Gamorra. “You wanna go tell ‘im? Or should I?”

Gamorra shifted slightly and kept stroking Peter’s hair thoughtfully. She’d started doing it sometime during the conversation, and clearly had no intention of stopping now to chase down and disappoint an already on-edge Ravager. Drax cleared his throat as quietly as he could and stated, “I am too blunt. I would only enrage him further.”

Rocket’s ears drooped further and he grumbled as he shuffled towards the door. “Krutakin coward.” he said spiritlessly, as if out of pure force of habit.

For his part, Drax noted he did not hurl any epithets at Gamorra.

Maybe the small abrasive mammal was learning manners. Or maybe he did not want to enrage the green witch.

Regardless. Rocket did seem to be learning something. He was not entirely without intellect. Drax was proud of Rocket. He would tell him so when he saw him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )
> 
> Also...quick question...am I the only one who headcanons the "nice" Ravagers (for purposes of this fic, Yondu's loyalists) as a strange mix of Jack Sparrow's crew in Pirates of the Carribbean...and the _Muppets_? You know, technically ruffians and villains but too quirky and secretly adorable to be actually hard core evil?
> 
> I know that isn't part of the canon, but that headcanon sort of appeared and stuck in my head, and that's how I wrote them. AUs for the win, amIright? (Also, they're so freaking ADORABLE that way!)


	43. Hidden Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never judge a book by its cover. Even a very scruffy, or perhaps a very cold, cover. 
> 
> AKA The demise of Peter's Walkman is dealt with.

Wearily, Rocket padded out of the infirmary shuttle and followed the sound of Yondu’s swearing. Groot, of course, came with him. The little tree swung his legs happily as he sat on Rocket’s shoulder, and Rocket only hoped that the sight of the tiny tree’s bright eyes might stop the Ravager captain from filling Rocket full of short-tempered arrow holes.

The swearing ended at the doorway to the cargo bay that’d been repurposed as the temporary teleportation room. Rocket leaned against the grimy doorframe, watching, one eyebrow raised, as Yondu kicked aside a box full of clanging parts and grabbed at another, cursing. Several other Ravagers—and even that plump Nova Corpsman Denarrian Day—were also in the cargo bay. They were diligently pawing through boxes, looking underneath shelving, climbing up rickety scaffolding and dumping out boxes (without checking to see if there was anyone underneath them at the time), and generally doing their best to turn the already sloppy place into utter chaos.

“What, ” Rocket said flatly, “the hell, are you all doin.”

Yondu glared at him as he pulled a second box toward him, rummaged around in its depths. “The hell it looks like we’re doin.” he snapped back, his voice echoing slightly. “Tryin to find the kids’ dast walkman. It musta fell off the last time he was in ‘ere. He always whines about wantin it whenever he’s sick.”

“Yeah!” The one called Kraglin hollered, poking around underneath some shelves with an old-fashioned boathook. “Won’t shuddup about it. Gotta find it if we wan’ him to shut up.”

Rocket cocked his head. Whispered out one side of his mouth to Groot. “They know Quill’s on a ventilator, right? For an indefinite period of time. Right?”

Groot nodded gravely. “IamGroot.”

“Yeah, I figured. Should we tell ‘em we know?”

“Iamgroot?”

“That we know how much they care—should we tell em we know?”

“I…amGroot.”

Rocket grunted. “Yeah, I don’ wanna get used as target practice either.” He paused, thought about what Kraglin had said, and sniggered slightly. “Quill _can_ be kind of a whiner.” Rocket snickered to himself. Groot looked reproachfully at him. “IamGroot.” He said reprovingly. Rocket stopped abruptly.

“Naw, naw of course he isn’t bein a baby now. I was just thinking of that little two-week fever he got when we were out in that Gamma Quadrant…or the time he got shived by that backstabbin contact during that Zeta job…or the time somebody accidentally sort-of-on-purpose stabbed him in the foot cuz he’d tripped over their their tail one too many…” Groot’s little eyebrows rose towards the ceiling. Rocket snarled. “Ya know what, never mind!”

He raised his voice again as Yondu, swearing, thrust the second box of parts aside.

“DUDES!” Rocket yelled, glad that the Nova Corps med shuttles had soundproof doors. “WHAT ARE YOU DOIN?!” he hollered again.

Yondu roared back. “I’ TOLD YOU, YOU DAST IDIOT! WE’RE JUST TRYIN TO CUT THE KID’S WHININ OFF AT THE PASS!” He squinted, saw Groot waving sunnily at him from Rocket’s shoulder.

“Hey twig!” He said impulsively. “Ya wanna help us make yer friend happy?”

Groot nodded excitedly. Yondu’s grin showed his gold tooth. “Come ‘ere!” he beckoned. “Come ‘ere and help us find it. It’s gotta be in here somewhere—“

Groot hollered gleefully and jumped down off of Rocket’s shoulder to join the noisy, chaotic melee. Rocket caught him without looking and gently, but firmly, held him cradled close to his chest.

“None of you are gonna find it.” he told Yondu grimly. Yondu glared at him. “Hell if we won’t. What’s wrong witchyu, rat?”

Rocket reminded himself that gnawing Yondu’s headfin off and selling it on uBay would be considered rude. And that the Nova Corpsman currently in the cargo bay might arrest him for it. And that Groot was present and, as a twig, was easily influenced by things like graphic violence and sudden loss of temper.

So Rocket did his best to be a good role model.

“First thing,” he said through bared teeth, “my name’s Rocket. Second thing, you’re not gonna find Quill’s walkman. Or his headphones. **BECAUSE QUILL’S FLARGIN DAD FRAGIN BUSTED EM UP ON HIS STUPID GORRAM PLANET!!”**

He hadn’t meant to yell so loud. He hadn’t meant to use so many words Groot would now go and look up in the intergalactic dictionary.

He hadn’t known he was still so _angry_ about what had happened down there.

Day, and Yondu, and the other Ravagers, suddenly stopped rifling through boxes at that. Metal pieces chinked and chimed as they settled. The big Ravager, Beyren, who’d been up two levels of scaffolding, completely dropped his box from nerveless hands. It crashed through two levels and landed on something—probably the floor—in the sudden silence.

(Somebody briefly howled as it crashed down, but just as quickly stifled their cry.)

Yondu blinked, as if he hadn’t heard right.

“—his dad did _wha_?” Kraglin said, eyes wide.

Rocket’s eyes stung and he coughed a little. He wasn’t upset about it. Not as upset as Quill had been, anyway. “—his stupid dad _smashed_ it.” he said roughly. “Down on the planet. Ground it ta bits. Pete’s got like, three tiny little pieces, and they don’t even fit together no more. The rest of it’s either ashes or floatin through the stars right now.”

Some of the Ravagers turned and looked out the viewscreens near them, as if they hoped to find and salvage the walkman from the planetary wreckage.

Beyren started to cry. Day looked sick. Kraglin twisted his face into a fierce frown—the way Groot did whenever he was trying not to sob uncontrollably—and kicked his box hard. It didn’t bounce back. Kraglin’s toe did. He bit down on an agonized yelp and hopped for a few seconds.

Yondu was still starin into space. “He did, did he.” he said slowly. Rocket bobbed his head once in angry acknowledgement. Yondu’s jaw worked furiously. Without saying a word, he jerked upright and stormed from the cargo bay, fists clenched, his eyes hard and bright. Rocket moved out of the way. He didn’t know where Yondu was goin, and he sure as hell wasn’t goin ta ask.

Groot gasped and blinked in sudden, awful remembrance. And began to cry, wide eyes squeezing out hot tears that ran down his face and dripped tiny droplets of moisture onto Rocket’s bandages. Rocket winced away from the cry, because it simply sounded awful. It was worse than Groot’s usual cry, far worse, because Groot wasn’t crying out of pique, or anger, or simple exhaustion. He was crying because he knew how much the tunes had meant to Quill. And was utterly, completely heartbroken knowing his friend would never be able to hear them again.

“I—am—Grooot!” he sobbed, jumping up and clutching at Rocket’s sore ear. Rocket winced, but gently patted the little twig’s back all the same. “‘z okay.” he said wearily, wishing his lie were even partially true. “‘z okay. Quill’ll be _fine_.”

“ _—rooooooot._ ” Groot whimpered, and Rocket patted him a little bit faster. “— _yeeeaaah_ , he won’t be fine.” Rocket continued, in the same tone of voice, as if he hadn’t just done a 180 in his verbal reassurances. “—yeaaaaah, _nooooooo_ , he won’t, not at _all_ , we gotta think of a way to fix it an’ fast….”

“—ro—roo—rooot?!”

Rocket gave Groot a confused sideways look as best he could. “Whadda mean maybe there’s a different music player we could find?” he demanded. “Ain’t no player out here I’ve heard of that could play Terran songs.”

***

Krystian looked up as the blue-skinned Ravager captain came hurtling into what passed as the Ravager ship’s kitchen. The career pirate barely slowed down enough to avoid crashing into the rickety table, where Krystian was slowly enjoying a well-earned cup of tea.

“You got any Terran music players, Broker?” Yondu said brusquely. Krystian raised a white eyebrow. “Why do you ask?” he said calmly. Yondu swallowed hard, visibly trying to keep a hold on his temper.

“I’m interested in buyin one.” he grated. “Fer the kid.”

Krystian snorted as he stirred his tea. “You think he’d ever use anything other than that antiquated piece of Terran junk?” he said calmly. “I tried convincing him to upgrade multiple times. He wouldn’t listen. Was nearly downright rude.”

Krystian eyed Yondu from over the rim of his teacup. “Never tried spearing me through the eye with an arrow, though.”

Yondu had enough grace left to blush at that. “Ah…yeah. Hm. Sorry ‘bout that.” he mumbled. “Business, ya know. ‘ppreciate yer help today, though.”

“My help was not given to you.” Krystian said icily. “I owe the boy the lives of my entire family. If I can save his life, I will consider my debt repaid.”

Yondu nodded slowly at that. “Still. I appreciate yer help all the same.”

Krystian eyed him narrowly, then sighed, redirecting the conversation back to the business at hand.

“Why are you interested in a Terran music player?” he asked, almost wearily. “They’re not exactly in high demand. And your boy already has one of his own.”

Yondu glowered at the dirty countertop. “Not no more he doesn’t. Kid’s jackass father—the one that caused all this trouble—crushed it as a power play. Thing’s ashes and pieces, now, won’t run no more.”

Krystian frowned, working out the double negatives. Then his eyes widened. “ _Did_ he.” he breathed. He felt an old, almost forgotten fury rise up in him at the thought, then forcibly pushed it away. He’d served four terms as a medic in the Skellarian wars, and seen—and done—fairly brutal acts of violence. After he’d left the Corps, he had tried his best to sever that life from his current one.

Which wasn’t to say he’d forgotten how to tear things apart. He just didn’t do it.

Often.

He breathed out hard again, took another slow sip of tea, thinking hard. Then, without changing expression, he brought out a small box from his jacket pocket and clicked in a few commands. Yondu, who’d been watching him intently, blinked.

“Whas’ that?” he asked, pointing at it.

Krystian sniffed. “This,” he said delicately, “is how I can access my inventory when I am—how shall I put it—away from my store.” It was a miniature beaming device, to be honest, but he wasn’t going to tell Yondu Udonta that. He clicked in a few more commands, then rapidly cycled through the hidden security scans. The light on the edge of the box blinked red, then orange, than green. Krystian opened the box, withdrew a small, dark object, and pushed it over the table towards Yondu.

The Ravager captain picked it up, staring wonderingly at it. He shot Krystian a half-hopeful, half-incredulous look.

“It’s called a Zune.” the Broker said dryly. “Terran make. Holds three hundred songs.” He took another sip of tea.”You’re welcome.”

Krystian doubted if Yondu had ever looked more taken aback in his life. The Ravager captain opened his mouth, then closed it again. To be fair, Krystian thought, perhaps Yondu was simply not used to people being kind.

“I’m _not_ being kind.” Krystian said quickly. “Consider this the last part of my payment to Star-Lord.” Yondu looked at him sideways, then, as if remembering something, put the Zune carefully down onto the table and started to move towards the door.

“I got somethin’ of yourn.” he said over his shoulder. “That lil’ blue thing. The ship’s not exactly set to rights after this whole rigamarole today, but I’m gonna—“

Krystian sighed heavily. “Oh, don’t bother.” he said irritably. “Consider that a gift to you for saving Xandar.” Yondu froze, looking suspicious. Then he sat back down at the table and smiled. “Yer’ an interestin one, Broker.” he said slowly. “I think I had yew pegged wrong this whole time.”

Krystian smiled back, his own expression thin and slightly dangerous. When he spoke next, his voice was deceptively mild. “Indeed. Oh, and, Udonta. Don’t _ever_ try and intimidate me again. Last time we spoke—and you so _inelegantly_ threatened my eye with your _flarging_ arrow—my granddaughters were in the back of my store, working on their homework. I didn’t want things to get…messy.” His eyes glinted slightly under their bristling brows. “I’ve taken certain other precautions since then. And it’d be a shame for us to have a misunderstanding after today. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Yondu’s eyes studied him narrowly. “I can’t tell,” the Ravager captain drawled, “If you’re jokin or not.”

Krystian’s smile only barely reached his eyes. “Believe me. I’m being fully serious.”

Yondu’s face broke into a snaggle-toothed grin of absolute respect. “I’ll be durned. I did peg ya wrong this whole time.” He chuckled to himself. “Well, well. Seems Quill ain’t the only idiot on this ship after all.”

Krystian sniffed and poured himself another mug of tea. “What you call idiocy others might call charm. Out of all the—characters—I encounter professionally, your boy is one of the more enjoyable.” Krystian suddenly snorted. “Did you know that during that whole business with Ronan and the Orb, he had the _gall_ to tell me that _you’d_ sent me your compliments? To say that you thought I “had the best eyebrows in the business”?”

Yondu threw back his head and let out a bark of sudden laughter. “That sounds like him!” he rasped.

Krystian snorted. “Indeed.” He noticed Yondu was looking suddenly distressed again. “He will be all righ’, won’t he?” Udonta asked, eyes suddenly very worried.

Krystian disliked lying outright, even if it was to a Ravager, so he nodded vaguely, keeping his eyes focused on the grimy table. “Mm.” he said.

Krystian frowned to himself in sudden vexation, remembering the distressing readouts and uncertain prognosis earlier today. Nova Prime was with the boy now, and she was more than capable. But Krystian still didn’t _like_ how tenuous the boy’s condition was. Besides, the boy was too young to have fought off genocidal maniacs and evil sentient planets. He barely looked older than Krystian’s granddaughters, and they weren’t old enough to be piloting a speeder, let alone a starship.

Terrans. Little lifespans, even smaller self-preservation instincts.

_Hmph._

Dast it, the kid had looked far too small and much too fragile to be surrounded by so many dast machines. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” he lied, smoothly. “It’ll just take time.” Yondu eyed him suspiciously. “Yew didn’t seem so sure earlier this mornin.”

Krystian shrugged, watching Yondu narrowly. “You should really get some medical attention yourself, Captain. Mind control is nothing to be dismissive about.”

Yondu chopped one hand to the side in a tired gesture. “Not until the boy’s fine.”

Krystian hmmmmed into his mug. “Like I said, not something to brush off.”

Udonta sounded irritated now. “Ah said, not until the boy’s _fine_. There’ll be time then.”

Krystian sighed, looking down into the dregs of his teacup. “Very well.” Then he tapped his spoon three times on his chipped saucer, the motion swift and decisive.

Yondu raised an eyebrow. “What’re you—“

Then he blinked, reached a heavy hand to the back of his neck, feebly grasping at the tranquilizer dart sticking out the back of his neck. He glared at Krystian.

“Yew….dick.” he said feebly.

Krystian smiled back at him. “But I am not _one hundred_ percent of one.” He said politely. Yondu rolled his eyes, then slowly began to topple over. Krystian calmly shifted the Zune and his saucer out of the way as Yondu slumped forwards over the table, already snoring sonorously. Across the ship, from behind a few tumbled crates and the long barrel of a tranquilizer rifle, Denarrian Day shot him a smug smile and a brief thumbs up. Krystian raised his teacup in an ironic salute and finished his drink.

Then, sighing, he started to treat the Ravager captain. The stubborn bastard was probably fine. But mind control _really_ wasn’t something to take lightly. Besides. Nova Prime had outright encouraged him and Day to ensure Udonta’s well being.

Well, specifically, she’d said something along the lines of _After this boy is stabilized we are hunting that captain down and making him rest if I have to use a tranquilizer gun and my sniping skills to do it_ , and Denarrian Day had said _Good thing I was in special ops before I transferred to Xandar_ , and she said, _Of course you were, why do you think I brought you along_ , and then Krystian had smoothly interjected that he _rather thought it was time for some tea_.

At this point, a somewhat guilty looking Tullk lumbered into the kitchen, and Krystian paused long enough to push the little Zune over towards the hulking Ravager.

“Try and get some Terran tunes onto this.” he said airily. “I’m sure Quill figured out a way to save his music on your ship while he lived here. Check with his friends, too. Maybe they can help you figure something out.”

The incredulous grin Tullk shot him made the big Ravager look years younger and much less intimidating. Krystian sniffed again as the big lunk turned and pounded away into the ship, hollering happily for his crewmates and the assorted bunch of not-quite-jackasses that made up the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Krystian certainly wasn’t smiling himself.

Not even a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	44. Unspoken Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which somebody loses a bet.

_Four and a half weeks later_

When Peter woke up, he couldn’t see his friends at first. But he could certainly hear them.

“—takin’ foreeeevvveerrr—“

“—cease your yammering, small impatient mammal, his condition has been steadily improving, perhaps today is the day he will wake—"

“—oooot?”

“—yeah, I know pal, Drax keeps sayin that but Pete’s _still_ stayin the flarg asleep—Mantis, you don’t have, like, a magic zap that would…ya know, zap him awake?”

“—no, Rocket, I am afraid not—besides I do not think Gamorra would like it—“

“—that’s right, Mantis, I wouldn’t—and neither would Peter—“

“—but the lil’ thing’s righ, it has been an awful long time, yew’d think the boy could at least blink or sumthin…”

“—we could try the Zune again, which song do you think he’d—“

Slender fingers with familiar rings on them drifted along Peter’s face, and something small softly slid into place over his ears, dimly muffling the sounds beside and around him. Then the voices began to chorus again, their urgent whispers steadily rising into low and irritated murmuring.

“—the one about a roadway to hell!”

“—it is a highway, and no, Rocket, that does not seem at all appropriate.“

“—what about the kung fu fightin one? Petey likes action sequences—“

“—I don’t know, that’s maybe too action-packed right now, he _has_ been sleeping for—“

Peter grinned fuzzily to himself. He didn’t know why or how he got to be here, but given the fact that he was almost certainly in a med bay of some kind, he rather thought that “Livin On A Prayer” would be the most appropriate song. He tried telling them so. Found out that something was over his face and muffling his words. He was too doped up to feel the utter panic that usually came over him when that happened, but he did manage to reach up a hand and grab one of the hands that was still adjusting the soft things—oh, yeah, headphones, adjusting his headphones—over his ears. The slender fingers froze for a second, cold and stiff as his own fingers closed clumsily round them.

He cracked one eye open in time to see wide dark ones staring back at him. They were sorta blurry, but familiar. Hang on, he knew this—give him a second—

“He’s awake! Peter, you’re awake!” A familiar voice—Gamorra? Yeah, Gamorra—cried. She sounded close to tears.

Peter frowned a little at that. Who’d been making her cry? He’d find whoever it was and pummel them _good_. Drax would help. Rocket too. Groot and Mantis could cheer them on. And Yondu could provide any necessary backup. 

That was a good plan. They’d like it. He tried to tell them his plan, but found he couldn’t. He started to worry a little more at that. Then Gamorra’s face disappeared in a rush of light and other voices, and the sound of beeping machines, and he drifted away again.

The next time he woke up, he was able to talk.

FINALLY.

As he drifted awake, Peter realized he was excitedly planning what to say. Thoughts and jokes and ideas swirled wildly around his head, and he couldn’t just pick one from the colorful mess. He could give Rocket grief for constructing the speakers (currently piping in upbeat music), that Rocket’d sworn he didn’t have time to work on. He could throw a few metaphors at Drax and laugh as Drax frowningly pointed out the inherent impossibility in them. He could laugh at Yondu for being such a softie. He could challenge Groot to a dance-off. He could ask Mantis if she’d learned to dance yet. He could tell—he could tell Ga—

Then his eyes were fully open, and his dad and all his friends were there.

Gamorra was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, her features clear in the bright sunlight streaming in through his window. Her hair was pulled back into a loose braid, her cybernetic scars white against her pale green skin. She was right by his side, still holding his hand, the way she’d been beside him during this whole crazy insane ride. Peter felt something flip over inside of him. She’d been _there_.

She hadn’t _left_.

Wow.

Just…just wow.

He blinked a little as he realized just how much he’d come to depend on her. It wasn’t that he’d taken her for granted. He’d just come to think of her as integral to his very being. Like breathing, sort of. You just did it. You didn’t think about how awful it would be if you lost it.

He shook his sudden—and uncharacteristic—metaphysical musings aside. Gamorra was smiling at him. Actually smiling. But her eyes were just a little too bright and her grip just a little harder than it had to be. She took a deep breath and let it out quaveringly, as if she’d been holding it in for a very long time.

She’d been scared.

They’d all been scared.

And suddenly Peter found he didn’t have anything quippy to say. His snark powers stuttered and died at the look in her eyes. Dimly, he realized that if he made light of the situation now, it’d be sort of a 100% dick move. Which he really didn’t want to do.

But he had to say something.

Otherwise he might explode.

So he said the first thing on his mind. He’d wanted to say it for a really long time, had agonized about how to even broach the subject—but now, suddenly, he couldn’t keep it back for a single second longer.

“—love you.” he blurted out. Gamorra blinked at him, her own cheeks flushing as she finished saying the same words to him at precisely the same moment.

He blinked back at her. “Did you just—“ he asked croakily.

Gamorra cleared her throat. “Did you—“ she started. Then she broke off.

“—I do mean it.” he offered, when it was clear she was caught somewhere between agonizing embarrassment and beet-red confusion. Her lips had pressed together and she’d ducked her head, and was avoiding looking at him.

“Uh….” he tried. “Are you…okay?…“

Then he realized her shoulders were shaking with sudden laughter, not sobs, and he felt a pleased grin stretch over his features as she quickly took his face in both her hands and planted a quick but passionate kiss on his forehead. He reached up and caught one of her scarred hands in his. His other hand was still splinted, but whatever. He’d overcome worse handicaps before when circumstances—be it challenging a genocidal maniac to a dance-off or shooting a crippled ship into space—demanded.

“Hey,” he protested weakly, “come on, that’s _way_ too platonic for a sudden declaration of unspoken love!”

She smiled at him, her eyes bright and sparkling through her tears. “You were on a ventilator for weeks.” she said weakly. “I don’t think you’re supposed to—“

He cut her off with a conspiratorial grin. “Eh, don’t tell me the rules.”

She didn’t.

After a few blissfully quiet seconds, someone else in the room exhaled noisily. “Guess he’s _fine_.” Rocket snarked.

Drax’s voice, quiet and pleased. “Do not be a sore loser, Rocket, I did not win our bet either.”

Peter paused a second at that, quirked an eyebrow at Gamorra. “Zey had a bet?” he managed. She shrugged slightly. “Beatz me.” she mumbled.

They continued where they had left off.

“IamGroot!”

“Eh, stop rubbin it in, ya little twig, the odds of them both sayin it at the same time were like—were like, a _zillion_ to one!”

Yondu’s chuckle rolled out underneath Rocket’s amiable complaining. “Donchu know neveh to tell Peter the odds?”

From somewhere near Yondu, Mantis giggled. “Oh! It is an Earth reference!” she said, pleased. “When Peter and Gamorra are done expressing their affection for each other, we can show him our new collection of Earth folklore! It was so kind of Nova Prime and Denarrian Day to boost our signal. And for the Ravager crew to work so hard to build the right kind of receiver. Do you think Peter will want to watch that new vison of tele series with us? The one Gamorra likes? About the group of friends and the giant warrior robot?”

“Ah’m sure he will, lil’ one.”

“Ooooh, good! I will go make snacks! Groot, please come with me, it is so much more fun to bake cookies when you are around!”

“Iamgroot!”

“Oh, yes, you can lick the bowl, that is perfectly all right with me. But we must hurry, I do not want them to wait for too long!”

“Take yer time.” Rocket mumbled. “They’ll be here awhile.”

Drax sounded pensive. “Although not for too long, Rocket. Peter is still recovering, so any physical manifestation of their affection other than kissing is unlikely to take place for quite some—“

_“AAAAAUUUGGHH!”_ Rocket all but yowled. “Oh my _gods_ —fine, fine, yes, Drax, YES, WE GET IT, THEY’RE IN LOVE—aaaagggguhhh, celestials—ew, ick—QuillImgladyerfine, congrats Gammy on bein so happy, uh, yeah, gotta go—“

A scampering sound as Rocket hastily exited the infirmary. Drax boomed out a large laugh.

“My felicitations!’ he said. “I will refrain from clapping you on the shoulder, friend Quill, as that would disturb your and Gammorra’s somewhat precarious position. Gamorra, my sincere congratulations on finally admitting your love for this obnoxious warrior who dances to distract his opponents! I too shall now depart your presence!” Then his thumping footsteps faded away.

Yondu’s own strides passed by Peter’s bed too, as his father drawled a brief, “Glad you’re awake, boyo.” and a quick, “Treat ‘er _right_ , ya hear?”, before his long steps faded away as well.

After a few more moments passed, Gamorra leaned back a little, breaking contact, but kept one of her hands pressed lightly over Peter’s heart. Peter reluctantly let her go.

“I imagine,” she said, in a tone that would have been severe if she hadn’t been smiling so deeply, “you’re wondering where you are.”

Peter grinned and bounced his eyebrows back at her. “Does it matter?” he said gleefully. Gamorra snorted and pressed her hand gently back against his chest as he leaned towards her again. “You really don’t care?” she said wryly. Peter kept his eyes closed as he leaned forwards, lips pursed, and he shrugged.

“Meh. If you wanna tell me, that’s cool.”

Gamorra snickered slightly. “Well, we’re in the—mph, Xandarian—“

“Heheh—“

“—sector in the—ooh!—“

“Heeheehee—“

“—hospital—Peter, are you—oh! listening—to a single word—I’m, mmph, saying?”

Keeping his eyes blissfully closed, Peter broke off just long enough to rattle off what he’d observed. “Sure I have, you guys were talkin’ about it before I was all the way awake, Nova Prime got involved in this whole thing, we’re on Xandar, I’m guessin in the most elite hospital, in the super ritzy private wing, which I think is about forty floors up, and from the sound of the engines outside I’m thinkin Yondu’s Ravager ship is docked right outside in the private parking area, which means Yondu and his group got somethin like temporary immunity and they’ve had it ever since they got me here.” He opened one eye and grinned at her. “That about right?”

Gamorra stared at him, a faint look of surprise crossing her usually schooled features. “Forty-fifth floor. But other than that, yes.” She studied him closely. “You’re _not_ a total moron.” she said wonderingly.

Peter snorted at that, then lost track of what had offended him when he saw the teasing look in her eyes. “Yeaaaaaah, well,” he drawled, “I can’t be, cuz I totally and completely fell for you, so I got at least one thing right…right?”

Gamorra rolled her eyes as he leaned back in. “Being in that coma for over a month didn’t even slow you down.” she observed.

Peter grinned goofily. “Nope, nuthin can.” He stopped suddenly and paused for a moment, a stricken look passing quickly over his features. “I mean, nuthin can when I’m, uh, thinkin’ about _you_.” he fumbled. “I mean, I know I haven’t been the most, uh, reliable guy in the past, romantic wise, but, uh, this time it really is, uh, really is different.”

He looked worriedly at her. “I mean, if you wanna wait to get serious, or something, we totally can—I mean, if you wanna wait more—just so I can prove I’m not just sayin these things, that I’m not tryin any kind of pelvic sorcery on you, that I really am serious—“

Gamorra smiled angelically at him and kissed him again. “I _know_ you’re serious, Peter.” she said sincerely. “I can tell these sorts of things.” Peter beamed happily and kissed her back.

“Besides,” Gamorra said silkily, “Mantis can read minds. And she let slip a few things about yours while we were waiting for you to recover.”

Peter reddened all the way up to the tips of his ears and Gamorra giggled. Actually giggled. She smiled at him again. “Don’t be silly. I thought it was sweet. And I stopped her before she said anything too embarrassing.”

Peter still was fiery red. “Oh good.” he said cautiously. “Uh….yeah, uh, good.”

Gamorra pulled back and studied him delightedly. “You really thought you were going to die when you saved me outside of Knowhere.” she said, a little more seriously.

Peter squirmed a little, but realized lying about an innocent child’s mind-reading was ultimately going to be futile. “Uhhh….yeeeaaah.”

“And you really thought grabbing the Infinity Stone wouldn’t do a finger snap’s worth of difference in the long run. Back on Xandar.”

“It was worth a _shot_.” he said weakly. Gamorra smiled fondly at him. “And you really didn’t have a plan to get me out of the Kyln. You saw them dragging me off and made up a plan to save my life as you went along.”

Peter flushed red at that all over again. “Weeelll, it just didn’t seem _fair_ ta have ya die like that. And it all worked out in the end.”

Gamorra smiled beatifically at him and leaned in again. “Yes, Star-Lord.” she said, her eyes smiling. “Yes, it did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! Whew! What a ride, am I right?! 
> 
> (Reviews are received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) )


	45. Dancing In The Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a lord of the stars and an assassin are, very clearly, utterly and completely _twitterpated._

_Two months later_

“—keep your eyes closed, G, it’s a surprise.”

“—all right, I’m trusting you, Peter.”

“Awesome! Okay, just a second….annnnnd…..annnnnnnnd….. _annnnnnnnnnnnnnnd_ ….ugh, hold on a second—“

A brief rustle and thumping around. Then Peter hollered in delighted glee, telling Gamorra to open her eyes. She did, bringing her fingers down from her face, and stared in surprise at the two spacesuits Peter was excitedly holding up in front of her, grinning all over his face. She squinted at them.

“There’s something different about them.” she said slowly. Peter nodded, smirking. “Yup.” he said smugly. “They’re triple reinforced to withstand the radiation so when we’re out there, we don’t get fried.”

Gamorra looked over at him blankly. “The radiation—“ Her eyes widened and her hands flew to her mouth. “You don’t mean we’re—“

“Uh-huh.”

“You found the—“

“Yep.”

“How did—“

Peter shrugged. “Simple. I cross referenced the stories you were telling Mantis against the last known coordinates of that resort moon you and your family used to vacation on. Then I hunted around in Nova Corp’s indexes to figure out when the next light show was due. And Rocket helped me modify these—“ he held up the spacesuits proudly “—so that the radiation from that last explosion wouldn’t _kill_ us when we went out on our date.”

He paused for a second, and his blue eyes went wide. “I probably shoulda asked.” he said, stricken. “But you were so—I mean, Mantis said that whenever you talked about watching the Eastern Lights you’d get all wistful, and that there wasn’t anything else in the galaxy you wanted to see again quite like that, soooooo….sooooo I thought it was a good idea, but…um…yeah, I probably shoulda asked before…I…did this…” He held up the suits again, but didn’t shove them at her head so much as weakly waggle them around.

“Doooooo you wanna go out and look at the Eastern Lights…with me…even though there’s no resort moon there anymore…annnnddd the last time you saw them was with your…uh…family…right before everything went, uh, sideways…”

He drooped even further, his face twisting in dismay at the wide-eyed expression on hers. “Aw, krutak. Gamorra, I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I shoulda—“

She flew at him and locked her arms tight around his neck in a wordless embrace. He choked a little, but she felt his shoulders relax a little as she hugged him tighter.

“Sooo that’s a yes, then?” he said, and the tentative snark only partially covered his utter relief.

“Thank you.” she whispered. “I—I never thought—I’d never thought I’d see them again.” She wiped surreptitiously at one eye when she thought he wasn’t looking. He was. But he wisely recognized the brief tear for what it was and didn’t make a huge deal about it. Instead, he gallantly went down on one knee, offering a suit to her with a huge grin on his face.

“Jus’ lemme know whenever you’re ready.” he said sweetly. Gamorra slid the hangar off his hand and gave him a brief smile. He returned the smile and hummed merrily to himself as he bent to pick up his own suit. She started walking away to her room to change, then smiled to herself as he flat-out broke into song behind her. He only did that when he was really happy. Her smile widened as, in the shining hallway ceiling, she caught the reflection of him moonwalking back towards his room in utter bliss.

_**“—thought love was only true in fairy tales, meant for someone else but not for me, love was out ta get me—“** _

She broke in, singing a little herself and altering the lyrics to suit her.

_**“—that’s the way it seemed—disappointment haunted all my dreams—but then I saw your face—“** _

She swiftly turned round and blew a kiss at her significant other. Just before she closed her own door, she caught sight of the expression on his face.

She laughed softly about it the whole time she got ready. When she told Mantis what he’d looked like, Mantis laughed too. The little girl laughed so hard she _cried_.

****

Peter stared at the closed door down the hallway, feeling his brain fruitlessly trying to turn itself back on. The comms unit buzzed in the suit, and he dimly heard Rocket’s voice crackling through.

“—Ugh, _Quill_ , quit _gigglin_.”

Peter drew himself up at that. “I’m _not_ giggling.” he said aloofly. “I’m…chuckling. It’s much more dignified.”

Rocket snorted. “Well, try and put your jaw back up where it belongs. And blink yer eyes a little, dude, you look _disgusting_.”

Drax’s deeper voice joined in. “I believe what Rocket is trying to say is that you are clearly infatuated.”

Peter gave a breezy, half-focused salute to the cameras and turned to go into his room. “Yeah, fine, whatever, guys. I got this. Totally focused. Not gonna screw up the anniversary date.”

He took two steps forward and bounced back off the closed door to his room. He swore, rubbed his nose, and glared into space as his friends howled in delight over the comms. “‘m gunna gitu for that.” he muttered. Then punched the code to open the door to his room and stalked inside, grimly determined that he was _not_ going to screw this up.

Groot gave him a solemn thumbs up as he entered. “Hey, buddy, you got the playlist?” Peter asked, sitting down on the bunk and wrestling with his boots. Groot nodded gravely. “IamGroot.” he said seriously. Peter winked at him. “Good. Now run on up ta the bridge and get Kraglin to punch it into the speakers.”

As Groot happily ran off on his errand, Peter mused that he sure was glad the Ravagers were still helping them out from time to time. He found it a little strange that Yondu insisted on doing every repair to the Milano himself, but hey, Peter wasn’t gonna complain if that meant they helped him get Gamorra out to the edge of what had been her home system in time for their second-month anniversary. _And her birthday_ , a little voice reminded him.

Peter finished shrugging his way into his spacesuit and took a deep breath. Then he swung open his door and jauntered down the hallway, hoping against hope he didn’t trip over his own feet and fly out the airlock feet first.

(Again.)

But Gamorra was there, and she looked happy, and he took her hand, and then they launched out into the deep violet of space and landed straight in the middle of a fluctuating ribbon of emerald light, and she laughed, really, actually laughed, the way she hadn’t in a really long time—

—and after they’d flown around for a little bit, and the mood was just right, Peter shot out his arm in the “GO” signal, and far away in the cockpit, he dimly saw Rocket grin and punch down on the appropriate button. Music began to pipe in over their comms, and he grinned as he saw Gamorra’s eyes widen.

Gravely, fighting down a grin of his own, he extended a hand. “May I?” he asked, in what he hoped was an acceptable try at a serious tone. Gamorra smiled at him and quirked her mouth upwards in a tiny little smirk. “Yes, you may.” she replied, her own voice level.

Peter beamed and started carefully and simply twirling her around as best he could in zero g. Granted, this might have been easier with artificial gravity and without spacesuits, but hey, he figured he was doin a pretty good job.

Over their speakers, the singer happily warbled about dancing in the moonlight, and Gamorra smiled at the way the lyrics fit their actions. Peter smirked. Yeah, he was pretty good at this. If he did say so himself.

“You know,” Gamorra said slowly, taking him unawares, “I never did tell you what your surprise was going to be.”

“Huh?”

“You know. For not dying.”

Peter thought about that for a second, then shrugged. “I figured you sayin yes to goin out with me was the surprise.” She shot him a wry look, then smiled a little at the genuine happy gleam in his eyes.

“Well, I did have something else in mind.” she said seriously. Peter’s eyebrows jumped. “Really? What is it?!”

She smiled, then took his other hand in her own, gliding up and sideways until she was tucked up against him. If they’d been back on the ship, he would’ve thought she was getting ready to—

“—no way!” he said, delighted. “You can _dance_?!”

She laughed a little at that. “A little.” she admitted. “I’ve been trying to teach myself. I hope this works…”

“Awesome, all right!” he whooped. “Let’s do this! Did you have a song in mind?!?”

She shook her head. “No, you go ahead. You have pretty good taste.”

“I do?!”

“Usually.”

“Whoo-hooo! Rocket, put on “You Make My Dreams Come True”. You know the one!”

Rocket’s exaggerated sigh made it through the comms as Peter started to (badly) sing “Youuuu make my dreams come true—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, ya little lovebirds. Oh, and there’s a real nice light show comin your way if you head two degrees up to the right.”

“Thanks wingman! Peter and Gammorra out!”

Back in the ship, Rocket pulled an exaggeratedly annoyed face as he punched in the right commands. Beside him, Mantis looked glowingly out at the sight of the two figures spinning slowly through the oscillating lights and the glowing stars.

“It’s beautiful.” she said dreamily. Rocket sniffed a little. “Yeah, it’z pretty cute.” he said gruffly.

Mantis clasped her hands together. “It is just like that Earth movie about the little robot and the plant!”

Rocket snorted to himself. “Where’d you think Quill got his ide—ow!”

He rubbed his head and glared up at Drax, who shot him a distressingly terrible attempt at an innocent expression. Then the Destroyer turned his gaze back towards the distant figures spiraling through the shining stars.

“It is true love, little ornery friend.” he said dreamily. “Is it not glorious?”

Rocket rubbed his head and snarled without any heat behind it. “I hate you so much.” he grumbled.

Beside him, on the console, Groot looked out at his friends too. “IamGroot.” he whispered, the stars reflecting back out of his large dark eyes.

“Yeah.” Yondu said. At some point he’d come up and was now watching the distant figures as well. “It is beautiful’, ain’t it.”

For once, that was something all of them could wholeheartedly agree on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: 
> 
> And there you have it! Thank you all _so much_ for reading!!!
> 
> Brief interlude of sappiness here: So, it did take me awhile to write this story, but I had the time because, well, the first thing is, it was _fun_ to do, and....weeeeelll, the second thing is, for awhile....I've been really sick. Like, pretty bad sick. (Honestly still am not great, but hopefully am on the mend.)
> 
> ANYWAY, the point is that I am _so happy_ that I was able to share this with you guys! All of this plotting and typing and pondering IS WORTH EVERY SINGLE MINUTE because now I know that "I! AM! NOT! ALONE!!" in loving these characters and simply _enjoying_ them. 
> 
> (And, eh, honestly, "not feeling alone" means a LOT when you're seriously ill.)  
> (_Or_ when you're an evil sentient planet with delusions of _grandeur_, but I promise I'm not this second option.) ;) 
> 
> Seriously though, from the very bottom of my heart, thank you guys for reading. And know that you're never alone either! 
> 
> (And, as always, reviews are still received with enthusiastic smiles and happy Groot-style dancing :) I might even break out into a spontaneous dance off with myself--which would certainly be something, I suppose) :)


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